Du Temps Perdu
by BelleDean
Summary: Edward A. Cullen, medical student by day and assistant at the pathology department by night, meets the seemingly wealthy and, therefore, unattainable Isabella M. Swan. Can he overcome his own fears and doubts to be the man who saves her? AH, E
1. Chapter 1

**This story was writing for the FGB auction. Twimom76, the winning bidder of the story, has graciously allowed me to post it here. **

**This story wouldn't exist in it's current state if it wasn't for the help of many betas and pre-readers who were kind enough to proofread this story for me, so that it should be relatively error free. I owe many thanks to javamomma0921, bookjunkie1975, nowforruin, DreaC – and the always-exceptional Reamhar. **

**The story is completely written already and I will post it fairly quickly (two updates per week).**

**This served as inspiration for the story:**

"_Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;_

_If you can bounce high, bounce for her too,_

_Till she cry "Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,_

_I must have you!"_

–THOMAS PARK D'INVILLIERS

**I don't own Twilight. Or The Great Gatsby for that matter.**

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**~Prologue~**

_New Orleans_

_May, 1950  
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I jump onto a streetcar of the St. Charles Avenue line toward home, bouncing the package that this sleazy lawyer handed me on my knees. For a minute, I consider not opening it and tossing the package and envelope I just received into the next garbage bin. I've heard enough for one day, and maybe it's best not to know the rest of the story. I walk through the servant's entrance of our house, avoiding running into anybody who could question my whereabouts this morning. I stalk to my room and rip open the package first. I know what the envelope contains; no need to look at it and so I toss it aside. Inside I find a handwritten letter lying on top of several carefully wrapped items.

_Dear Mr. Dubois,_

_I assume you received this package containing the note you are now reading from Mr. Jenks. I very much hope your meeting with Mr. Jenks went well and you are pleased with the arrangements I made on your behalf. I tried to balance the investments between riskier ventures offering the possibility of a sizable equitable return, and those more prudent choices promising more reasonable gains, but providing long term security._

_I am aware that you are probably anxiously sifting through the contents of this parcel in search of an explanation. I regret to disappoint you that I myself am not able to give you the answers you are seeking. I have enclosed the notebooks – diaries, if you will – of your benefactor in the hopes that they may be able to offer you some guidance._

_Sincerely,_

_Jasper Whitlock,_  
_April 3, 1950_

I unfold the first item out of its' shell of thin, white wrapping paper, and find one of those five cent notebooks I used to write my homework in when I was just in elementary school. I open up the first page. There are no initials and no name indicating who the owner of this worn out book is. The pages are yellowed from time and feel brittle in my hands. I start reading.

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**Thx for reading & please feel free to review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Twilight. **

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**~ I ~**

_Atlanta, Georgia_  
_Saturday, June 13, 1931 _

It's late at night or early in the morning, depending on whom you ask. The air surrounding me is drenched with a sweet, succulent, flowery scent that won't leave me. It's been following me since this afternoon in the library. I've spent my first night off in three weeks, and a good chunk of my meager wages, at a smoky, windowless speakeasy and all I should smell is the sour stink of strong liquor and stale cigarette smoke. Strangely, as I run up the stairs to the hole in the wall I rent, only her smell lingers.

I look at myself in the mirror while I wash my hands for what feels like the one-hundredth time today. It's been a while since I've taken more than a casual glance into the mirror to shave or wash my face. I still look the same – sort of. _Handsome_ – people used to say, but the last year has taken its toll. My cheeks are hollow, purple coloring shadows my eyes, and when my trademark smile crosses my chapped lips and spreads to the rest of my face, the lines around my eyes become deeper. Overall, my appearance is almost gaunt, and maybe it is time I take my landlady up on the charity invitation to dinner she is kind enough to extend to me every now and then. I usually decline, not wanting to impinge on her, I'm sure, limited resources. I could probably use a haircut too, I notice, as I rake my hands through my greasy, too-long hair.

It probably wouldn't hurt to pay more attention to my exterior. Classes are over for the summer, and all I've to worry about is my job. No anatomy, no pharmacology, and no immunology lessons. That should leave me with some spare time. I should probably take a shower more often to scrub the odor of formaldehyde off of me. I inhale deeply and there it is, the odor that never leaves me; strong and suffocating as it burns a path down to my lungs. Pathology, the dead, is all I deal with these days. And even though a faint hint of her scent is still in the air, simmering beneath the stink of death and disease, I know then it's hopeless. I shouldn't bother to try to change anything about me.

Considering how the stench has permeated my very existence, I'm surprised people aren't completely repelled by me; they are sometimes, when they notice it. Things aren't what they used to be these days. I never pity myself; at least I never have until today.

I fall down on my narrow bed, fully dressed, and sleep evades me. It's the first time in a long time I'm not instantly asleep the second my body hits the mattress. Usually physical exhaustion even keeps dreams at bay, and most nights going to sleep is just like falling into a deep, dark, black pit.

Not tonight, though. My mind keeps drifting back to this afternoon. Her smell is blossoming again. She sat three tables down from me, next to one of the large windows that frame the main reading hall. She read intently, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, while I tried in vain to study ahead for my fall classes, so I wouldn't drown in my workload once the semester starts again.

I noticed her immediately when she walked into the room. The sound of her heels click-clacking along the stone floor, the flowery scent of expensive perfume, her billowy white summer dress, and the two long pearl necklaces. She didn't look like the kind of gal who spends her time studying, yet she moved with certainty around the stacks, seemingly knowing exactly what she was looking for and where to find it.

When she settled with some books in hand, I started inspecting her. Upon first glance, she looked like any rich, young eligible debutante strolling down Peach Street. But there were things about her that didn't fit. Her hair, for one, was not cut in the latest fashion of a short bob, but held together at the back of her head in a bun with an elegant silver comb; it looked kind of old-fashioned and was in stark contrast to her otherwise à la mode appearance.

As I attempted to focus on the book on Mendelian chromosome theory in front of me, my mind instead wondered what her hair would look like unfurled, falling around her shoulders in long dark waves. Naturally, my eyes took the detour to her chest. Under the layers of long-stranded pearls rested a delicate gold chain with a small cross attached to it, lending her a touch of innocence. I never understood why people chose to adorn themselves with religious symbols; nor, for that matter, did I ever care to know why people chose to believe in a higher power. I was curious, though, as to why she was wearing it and whether it held any meaning to her.

She shifted to rest her head on her hand, while her other hand played idly with her pearls. The change of position made the top of her pretty dress fall forward. She didn't seem to notice and made no move to cover herself. I took the opportunity to let my gaze wander further down over her skin to her exposed cleavage and the white slip. Her skin was pale, almost translucent; something that wasn't quite common anymore with girls who could afford trips to nearby beach resorts. All the chic girls these days tanned. Oddly, the things about her that didn't mesh with my first impression of her were the ones that attracted me the most.

I realized then, unable to tear my eyes away from her, that it's been a while. My tongue darted out to lick my parched lips and I swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in the stiff, wooden chair.

Usually the showing of some cleavage wouldn't have gotten me excited. Back in my former life in New York, I'd never suffered from a lack of attention from the opposite sex, or a short supply of gals willing to offer me anything. Lying in my bed thinking about her, I realize that it's been an awful long time since I even wasted a thought on a girl.

I can't shake the vision of her, and so I revert back to the furtive pastime pleasure of my teenage years. My hand rubs up and down the worn-out fabric of my pants for a brief moment before I give in, unzip my pants and think of her. I let my head spin a fantasy as I close my eyes.

_She is standing at the foot of my bed in nothing but her white slip. Her body appears lithe as if she is walking on air when she moves to sit down, facing away from me. She glances back at me over her shoulder and smiles before letting one hand trail to the strap of her slip, __pulling it off her shoulder. In agonizingly slow motion she tugs the other strap down, peeling the last item of her clothes down to her hips._

_I want to crawl over to her to touch her, but I remain the voyeur for a while longer, enjoying the show. She reaches her hand up and pulls out the delicate silver comb from the back of her head, making me ache with anticipation. Her hair unravels in long, shiny, dark waves down her back, almost reaching the dimples right above her butt, still covered in fabric, and I want to tear the slip off of her with my teeth. Now._

_I stalk up behind her, crawling closer, ready to pounce, but before I reach her she turns around and kneels in front of me with her breasts exposed. She has effectively turned the cards on me; I'm the prey and she is the predator. I'm stunned by her perfection; her beauty is pure and without frills. No makeup, no jewelry and no fancy French lingerie to accentuate her curves. Her skin shimmers pearly white in the moonlight, transforming her into an ethereal creature. The peeks of her tiny, erect nipples are a deep rosy pink and I can't wait to touch, to feel. I tentatively let my fingers trail along her arm, grazing the side of her breasts and bend forward to kiss her. She pulls back with a light laugh. I am on the verge of no longer being able to restrain myself and trying to pull her down to lie next to me._

_"Patience," I hear her whisper from a far, far away place. She reaches with both hands to the back of her neck and my eyes are suddenly focused on the small golden cross lying in the hollow where the clavicle meets her sternum. She is taking it off. She collects the necklace in her hand, drops it on the small table next to my bed and straddles me. Her exposed wet sex rubbing against me, she bends over to kiss me, and our naked chests touch._

I am desperate for release. I want to extend this vision of her, but I can't hold back. It's been too long. I fall into deep slumber and the vision of the girl stays with me.

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**Thank you for reading. I promise this story won't be complete smut. **


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own Twilight**

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**~ II. ~**

_Sunday, June 14, 1931 _

My weekend consisted of two night shifts at the morgue, studying, a trip to a barber shop, and my newest habit: visualizing the girl from the library in all sorts of positions in my bed.

~000~

_Monday, June 15, 1931_

I've never before felt guilty about taking what I like for my pleasure, and I haven't taken anything from that girl. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling of shame when I saw her again in the library today. For a brief moment, I felt like I was fifteen again when my mother caught Emmett and me peeking across the back-alley window into Mrs. Denali's bedroom as she undressed. We thought Mrs. Denali was the cat's meow back in the day, but truthfully I realized she had nothing on this girl.

She wore a light blue elegant dress and a pair of very high heels. The pearls were missing, but the hairstyle and the perfume were the same. I smelled her before I saw her; every muscle in my body tensed in response. The dress was noticeably tighter than the one she had worn on Friday. Or maybe I imagined it. I thought I could detect the outlines of her slip as she strutted past me into the book stacks. She came back with a single book in hand and, instead of sitting near the window, she sat down toward the end of the table facing me. She opened up her book quickly and started reading.

I regretted my decision to get a haircut as I sat there trying to figure out whether it was safe to stare at her. Before I had cut my hair it was long enough to cover my eyes and now there was nothing for me to hide behind while I obsessed. I shouldn't have, but eventually I gave into temptation.

When I was certain she was focused solely on her book, I rested my eyes on her much the same way as I had last Friday. I noticed the cross again and let my gaze travel lower. Her dress was not only tighter – it was also lower cut. Below the swell of her breasts, I swore I could see the outlines of her nipples through the flimsy fabric. I was starting to sweat and suddenly found it difficult to breathe. My chest felt constricted, like someone had reached inside of me and was squeezing my heart. Then my heart rate spiked, pumping larger amounts of blood into my lungs and the rest of my body, and I panicked.

I didn't have to be at work for another two hours, but I bolted out of there anyway. I couldn't sit and focus on anything but her. I ran to work straight from the library. I had never before had the desire to spend extra hours at the university's pathology department, yet the cold halls in the basement of the hospital seemed like my only escape route. Life couldn't catch up with me there. I steadied my breath, leaning against the cool tiles of one of the examining rooms, reiterating the rational explanation my brain had come up with for my experience in the library: a temporary adrenaline high.

_It's five o'clock in the morning and I can't sleep. I shouldn't go back to the main library. Not tomorrow, and to be safe, not for the rest of the summer._

~000~

_Wednesday, June 17, 1931_

_I admit it; I'm an idiot._ Don't get me wrong, I wasn't always such a dense, daft prick. Before my father lost his job and every last penny he owned, before Emmett died and my mother fell into a depression so deep that nobody could pull her out of it, I used to be one slick, smart, easy-on-the-eyes kind of fella.

I cannot pinpoint the exact moment in time when that changed and I became a shadow of myself. The former version of myself would have quickly assessed my little _tête-à-têtes_ in the library for what they clearly were: flirtations. I would have seized the opportunity without hesitation by strolling over to her, and trying to lure her in with my cocky grin and my charm.

But who am I kidding? That person doesn't exist anymore. Instead, after avoiding the main library for one whole day, I went back, hoping to steal another glance at her. And I did, because I had strategized ahead of time. I took a large notepad with me, the ones I usually used for drawings in my anatomy class. I proceeded to casually prop up the pad against one knee and use it as a shield of sorts to stare at her at my leisure.

The color _du jour_ of her dress was lovely: a deep dark rose, almost the color I imagined her nipples to be. And, for a while, it really turned out quite swell. She seemed mesmerized by her choice of book today, Flaubert's Madame Bovary _en Francais. _And she even provided easy access for my viewing pleasure by sitting only one table down, directly across from me.

Her chest today was adorned with long golden chains, which her fingers played with idly as she read her book. Everything worked out perfectly to my advantage, or so I thought, until she stopped fiddling with her necklaces. Then her hand dropped away from the golden strings altogether and she exhaled loudly, before looking up from her book, and pinning her eyes directly on me with furrowed eyebrows.

I took a deep breath and looked down like a coward, pretending to read something on my notepad. I hadn't written one word in the hour I had been staring at her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her getting up and a sigh of relief escaped my lips – until I felt her standing next to me, tapping her foot. I racked my brain thinking of something to say, but she beat me to it, speaking before I could formulate a coherent sentence.

"Don't you know it's rude to stare, Mister?" she said. I was surprised at first. Not by the sound of her voice; its melodic, low tone was as beautiful as the girl itself. No, the voice suited her, but the lack of even a faint southern drawl confused me. In some ways, I had imagined her to be a Southern Belle.

I dropped my pad down on the table in front of me, pulled my arms up behind my head, leaned back further, and grinned at her. I knew I'd been caught – red-handed, so to speak. No point denying it.

"That depends, I would say."

"Please do enlighten me. What factors would possibly count in your defense of staring at me – shamelessly, I might add – for three afternoons now without bothering to introduce yourself?"

_She's definitely not shy or quiet. She is feisty, indeed_. I recognized this, albeit too late.

I laughed and shook my head. I suddenly got it. The dresses that kept on getting tighter, the plunging necklines, her hands playing with her necklaces; the way she always moved one seat closer to where I was sitting, making it almost too easy for me. I was embarrassed. Not for staring at her, but for not figuring out her game sooner.

"Okay, I guess I can remedy the introduction part now, if it's not too late. Edward, Edward Cullen." I tried to play it cool by getting up and extending my hand to her. She glanced at my hand briefly before reaching for it with hers. Her hand was warm and so soft. I closed my eyes for a second, reveling in the feel of her skin and her scent.

"Nice to finally meet you, Edward. So, what are you studying?" she asked without volunteering her name. She glanced down; a frown started to form on her face as her eyes flickered from my notepad to one of the books on the table. I chanced a glance at the page and tried to push my pad aside quickly. She, however, was faster and grabbed it before I could shove it under the anatomy textbook lying next to it. She held it up, inspecting it.

I scratched my chin, hoping she wouldn't ask me for an explanation I wasn't interested in giving. She smirked, looking at me and then back at the page in front of her.

"Who's the girl?" she asked, her eyes focused back on the drawing.

To me it was quite obvious whom I'd drawn, even though I hadn't yet started on the face.

"Um, you kind of forgot to mention your name?" I asked to buy me some time.

"Isabella," she said without looking up.

"It's you," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders. At this point, I fully expected her to smack me over the head with my own notepad, but instead her smirk spread into a full fledged smile.

"So I take it you study medicine?"

"Yes, I do."

"Come walk with me, Edward," she ordered and I collected my stuff to follow her.

"Do you have a cigarette?" she asked, leaning against the outside wall of the library in the shadow of a tree.

"Yes. Would you like one?"

"Well, yes, if you don't mind. You don't mind, do you? I mean, women who smoke?"

I shook my head, took out two cigarettes, put them both between my lips, lit them and handed one to her. She watched me with dark eyes.

"Well, good! You didn't strike me as the kind of guy who'd mind it terribly if a woman smokes or – god forbid – dares to have an opinion. I smoke, and I do have opinions about most everything. Most men down here cannot stand it though, which is why, according to my aunt Petunia, I am the most ineligible debutante she's ever laid eyes on. Do you want mine?" she rattled off rapidly.

"On what?"

"On your artistic talent, of course, silly!"

"Sure." This time I smirked. She sure talked a lot.

"I want to see that drawing once it's finished, but judging from what I could see, I would say you have an active imagination and you are wasting your time, money and definitely your talent in medical school." She inspected the cigarette in her hand and looked at me without batting an eye.

"Well, I take that as a compliment, Isabella. I don't know about talent and time, but since I'm studying here on a scholarship, I assure you no money of mine is wasted on tuition. And surely you do agree there is something redeeming about being a doctor."

"Ha! No, there is nothing redeeming about that profession. They prescribed my mother lithium, and couldn't fix my cousin's leg properly so he still walks around with a limp. Never mind that they charge way too much money to get rich off of people's misery. If you want my opinion, you might as well go to Mama Lulu's in the bayou and buy some of her medicine. At least she won't charge you an arm and a leg, and it works about just as well." As her last words escaped her pouty mouth, I noticed it – the accent I've been missing. It was faint and only came out when she got upset.

I chuckled. "Did you just compare doctors to some voodoo medicine lady who lives in the swamp? Surely you are aware that modern medicine makes new discoveries all the time? Take for example the development of synthetic insulin to cure diabetes. Before its discovery people were slowly wasting away from the disease."

I gave her my most convincing, earnest expression while leaning forward with one hand resting next to her head against the wall. Apparently my acting skills are still up to par, because shortly afterward she rolled her eyes and gave in.

"Oh, fine. Maybe not all of modern medicine is bad."

"So where are you from, Isabella? And what brings you to this library?"

"New Orleans. And it's Bella to my friends. The second question is really quite superfluous for a smart boy like yourself."

I raised one of my eyebrows at her questioningly, not certain where she was going with this.

"Oh, don't be so thick. It's you, obviously, and not those books. Mind you, I've already read half of them anyway." She didn't blush when she made the confession; instead she took a deep inhale from her cigarette.

"You have read half of those books? When the hell did you have the time to accomplish that? You can't be older than eighteen," I mocked her with delight, because she made feel alive.

"Oh, please. Not only did they forget to teach you it's rude to stare, but they also forgot to tell you that it's impolite to discuss a woman's age. But I will let you know that I am twenty-one years old and _do_ have a college degree." And with that she exhaled smoke into my face lazily, stumped out the cigarette with the toe of her high heeled shoe and walked past me.

"Bella, wait!" I yelled, running after her, suddenly worried I had offended her. "If I may call you that?"

"Yes, you may."

"May I see you again?"

"What for? To finish that drawing of yours?"

"No."

"No?" She shook her head and raised her eyebrows.

"Active imagination, you said so yourself, remember?"

"So what for then?"

"I don't know."

She continued to walk away, and I stared at her retreating form. As if sensing my uneasiness and worry, she turned around one last time.

"Oh, relax, Edward. I'll be back! It's not like I have anything better to do in this boring town."

She disappeared then, her hips swinging ever so slightly as she walked towards the campus exit.

I walked on clouds for the rest of the afternoon, and even during my night shift I was happy making plans in my head; plans that I didn't ever intend to follow through with. Felix, the old night porter at the hospital, noticed my chipper mood and promptly commented on it.

"You should get her some flowers, you know? Girls like that, Eddie!" he exclaimed, too loud for my taste. Half the nurses turned around and giggled. I abhor it when people call me 'Eddie', but make an exception for the old chap. He'd probably not remember if I would bother to inform him to please call me 'Edward' and go right back to calling me 'Eddie' the next day.

"I don't know her last name and I don't know where she lives. And even if I did, I doubt she wants to see me at her doorstep with flowers."

"Nonsense. Sounds like you'll just have to work a little harder to convince her!"

"Convince her of what, Felix?"

"That you are the man for her. Jeez, for a smart boy you sure are slow."

"But I'm not. She knows that."

"How can you possibly say that?" he huffed.

"It's really quite simple, old chap. She wants pearls and champagne, while all I can offer her is a rented room in the wrong part of town."

"Two more years and you'll be a doctor. Patience, Eddie, you've heard of it? It's a virtue."

Sitting in my room watching the sun slowly rise while counting the seconds until the library opens, I recognize that patience is not one of my virtues.

~000~

_Monday, June 22, 1931__  
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She appears to have found other things to do in this boring town. It's been five days; five days of hoping that she'll show up; five days of waiting for the sound of her heels, the smell of her perfume and the sight of her pretty face. I run to the library every day and miraculously even got some studying done, because the object of my obsession did not show up.

Work, unfortunately, provided ample opportunity for distraction. Three suicides over the weekend alone and in all three cases the families had insisted on an autopsy. Aside from one case, a guy who I was pretty certain based on the symptoms of his illness described to me by his sobbing wife, had killed himself by indulging in arsenic, the causes of death for the other two fellows were painfully obvious: a gun shot in the head and the old stand-by – asphyxiation by hanging.

But even while inspecting the decaying corpses in front of me, all I thought about was the girl . . . Bella.

I argued with Felix about the increase in suicides he has witnessed in the recent years. The misguided old fool thought suicide was always caused by heartbreak; I told him more likely it was a logical calculation made by all three men in front of me.

I bet you ten to one, I told him, if you did some digging through the family finances of either of the three dead men, you would have found out that the seemingly well-respected businessman was just a dollar short of bankruptcy, and rather than drag his family down with him, he'd taken out a hefty life insurance policy to ensure that the wife and the kids were taken care off. The poor sob, of course, in his hurry to end this only life he had for certain, had neglected to read the fine print of aforementioned policy. Hence, in the end his wife will not only end up a widow, but will also be poor.

I pondered this, and why the relatives of the guy with a gun shot wound, out of all things, wanted to have his chest and intestine examined as I pulled out a saw and began the tedious task of prying open his ribcage. Since I was only the lowly assistant to the pathologist, I didn't have much say in the matter, and I didn't voice my objections before proceeding to prep the body for the soon to follow autopsy.

Tonight though was a quiet night. Nobody died and I got to leave early. I fell asleep when I came home, resisting the urge now to fantasize about her. But of course in my unconscious state, that's what I did. I woke up in the middle of the night dripping in sweat and my own milky juices. I felt light-headed, a combination of nausea and hunger sweeping over me. The desired release is only a short-lived physical one. Something else continues to hang over me.

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**Thank you for reading. Reviews would be awesome.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own Twilight.**

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**~ III. ~**

_Tuesday, June 23, 1931_

She came to the library today. At first, I wanted to be mad at her when she strolled toward my table looking pretty and cool as a breeze in a flowery silk dress, clutching a straw hat and carrying a basket. But how could I?

She'd given me no definite time or date, and she has no need to come here to study. I'm sure she has plenty of men attempting to court her, following her around to amuse her. I'm also sure I'm but one of many who are smitten with her. So instead of being mad, I smiled at her as she sat on my table.

"Well, I'll be damned," she murmured, bending forward and leaning her head on her hand for support. "You look like a walking corpse, Edward. Ha! A vampire. Let's get you out of here."

I laughed out loud at her words. If she only knew . . . My laughter garnered me some disapproving looks from the middle-aged, broad-hipped librarian and some other students who were obviously more focused on studying than I was. Bella moved to stand next to my table and started laughing with me, the sound of her amusement ringing through the high vaulted ceiling of the reading room.

We walked out of there, both smiling, engulfed in a bubble of our own private delight. With her arm swinging next to mine, we rushed down the steps into the hot summer air; I desperately wanted to reach out to hold her hand and feel her skin against mine.

"So what would you like to do, Bella?" I asked her instead of taking her hand.

"I brought lunch along for both of us," she said, holding up the basket in her other hand.

Staring at the picnic basket in her hand, I could feel my smile disappear. The thought of her considering me a charity case that needed saving made my guts churn. She must have noticed my unease, and for the first time since I'd met her, she looked insecure. I didn't want to be the cause of her discomfort and pushed my fears away.

"Where are my manners?" I mumbled, reaching for the basket. "Thank you. This is very thoughtful of you." She let me grab the basket from her without protest and her smile reappeared. "Shall we?" I offered her my arm and she latched herself into it, leaning against me as we walked to a shaded spot under a tree.

She let go of my arm, took the basket from my hand, opened it and spread a blanket on the grass before unpacking our lunch. I sat down across from her and she handed me a sandwich.

We ate – or rather I ate – while she picked at her food without exchanging another word for some time. When I looked up at her again for a second, I noticed a small, satisfied smirk playing around her lips. The food tasted better than anything I'd had in a long time, and suddenly I felt self-conscious for greedily scoffing down the lunch she'd brought without talking to her first.

"So what would you have done with all this food, if I hadn't been here today?" I asked in an effort to play off my lingering discomfort while taking another bite of something she had handed me.

"Would you like the honest answer – personally not always my favorite choice – or the polite one?"

"What's wrong with honest answers?"

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, as if contemplating her response.

"Nothing, aside from the fact that they tend to be disappointing and nobody wants to hear them."

"So you'd rather be told a polite lie than the truth?"

"Yes, most of the time, I find it preferable. You know what they say: ignorance is bliss, and sometimes I would rather be happy than wise. A girl is better off anyway being a beautiful little fool."

"You honestly believe that?"

"I do." She paused for a second, shrugging her shoulders while I waited for her to continue. "You see, it's like when I thought about applying to Cornell University for college and asked my father if he'd let me attend if I got accepted. He didn't want to answer me and tried to shush me by telling me I shouldn't 'worry my pretty head with such things.' But I insisted on an answer. So he folded his hands over his chest and asked 'Do you want the honest answer, sweetheart?' and I said, 'Yes, of course, Daddy!' Do you want to know what his answer was?"

I nodded.

"He said, 'you, little girl, will attend a mixed school over my dead body. I don't care whether it's the best school in the whole damn country. Heck, for all I care it could be the best school in the whole wide world, and I'd still not let you go there. Get it out of your head now. Since you won't get in, I don't see the point of discussing it,'" she said in a deep voice with a heavy southern accent, trying to imitate her father, I presumed.

"Well, would you have felt better if he'd lied to you and then not let you go after you'd already been accepted? I believe that would have been more disappointing."

She laughed and winked at me. "Oh, I applied alright and even got in." She sighed before reminiscing, "In those days, I used to have more hope and so I argued with my father. Of course, he wouldn't hear of it. I was banned from eating at the dinner table with my parents for two months in a row because of it."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Where did you end up going to school?"

"That's nothing for you to be sorry about. I'd always preferred eating in the kitchen than at the dining room table. Beside, it turned out fine. I got into Radcliffe College and I liked it, even though I wasn't allowed to attend classes at Harvard. Enough about me! I'm such a bore these days. Do you want the honest answer and or the polite lie?"

"I'll always pick the truth."

"Fine." She smiled, batted her long dark eyelashes once and pursed her lips, seemingly trying to figure out how to be polite about her honest answer. "If you hadn't been here today, I would've been annoyed with you, Edward. No, I think I would have been downright boiling mad at you for making me drag all this food out here for nothing, and I wouldn't have bothered coming back, ever! Oh, and I would have possibly tossed the food in the nearest garbage bin before I walked off."

I laughed.

"I apologize. You have to forgive me! I did neglect to mention that I have a bit of a temper."

"There is nothing to forgive. I am curious now. What would have been the polite lie?"

"Well, I could've told you, like any responsible girl I would have dropped the food off at a soup kitchen. Then I would've come back … hmm… maybe tomorrow to check whether you might be around to discuss recent advances in modern medicine with me."

"But you wouldn't have done that?"

"Probably not, no. I know it's unreasonable and stupid to be this easily disappointed," she said with another shrug of her shoulders. I looked at her, wanting to contradict her. But then I caught the reflection of some hidden feeling in her eyes; a shadow of dejection flickered deep within them, and I hesitated for a second too long.

"Admit it; you liked the polite answer much better!" she exclaimed triumphantly before I could contradict.

"Bella, I don't like you less because you have a temper, if that's what you are inferring. And I wouldn't call you unreasonable and definitely not stupid. I would've come here, nevertheless, every day in the hopes that you might show up again," I admitted.

"That's so sweet of you to say!"

"It's the truth."

And it was her turn to laugh.

When we finished eating, I thanked her for the food and handed her the rolled up drawing I had completed.

"I think this is for my private viewing pleasure only. Thank you!" She winked as she took it from my hands, but some sadness remained in her eyes.

When I dropped her off next to her shiny, new car I was tempted to ask her why she was so unhappy if she had the world at her feet. But I didn't. In retrospect, I'm not sure whether the sadness had been there all along or whether something I'd said caused it.

I think about her eyes as I lie in my bed now and wonder what she sees when she looks into mine.

~000~

_Saturday, June 27, 1931 _

It's Saturday, the sun is out and I don't have to work. I should be happy, except I am not because I won't see her today. She told me she had somewhere to be and wouldn't be able to meet me. She promised to return to the library on Monday.

Bella came to the library every day for the past week, always bringing lunch along. I told her when she showed up on the third day with the basket in her hand that she didn't need to do this; that I did have a job, which paid enough money to buy food. I know it's a polite lie and not the truth I proclaimed to prefer, but the last thing I want this girl to feel for me is pity.

I was pretty certain she was lying when she nodded and said that she knew that, but she was just bored and liked to cook. The girl is really a lousy liar for all her talk of how she prefers to be lied to rather than told the truth. She looked downright uncomfortable and blinked a lot. I guess it was one thing to be lied to and another to tell a lie, but still.

My guess is that her aunt has an excellent cook on staff and Bella noticed my worn out clothes, gaunt face and tired eyes the minute she saw me. She's made her assumptions about why I look this way, and I can't refute them. I still don't know what she sees in me and what makes her come back. Damn, I hope it's not pity. I'm trying to follow Felix's words of wisdom on being patient.

It's hard most of the time. By nature, I am not a patient man. I want to ask her where she lives, whether she'll go to the movies with me or whether she'd let me hold her hand. I can sense she's not ready to give me the answers to these questions; at least not yet and maybe not ever, and so I hold back.

I did get to ask her a lot of other questions when I saw her. She willingly answered all of them with honesty. Bella loves books, and she's definitely read more than I have. In fact, I got the feeling she might not have exaggerated when she said she'd read half the books in the library. She's here for the summer visiting her aunt who is suffering from migraines. Bella would love to get a job, but her parents won't allow it. From the way she talks about it and the way her eyes lose their shine when she mentions college and how she wasted – her exact words, not mine – three years of her life studying, I venture to say that that's why she's often sad. I checked for that sadness in her eyes every time I saw her and, indeed, her eyes were always equal parts happy and gloomy.

I even solved some of her riddles. Her family is Catholic and her mother gave her the cross. She said she's not sure she believes in God and never goes to church. She would never admit that to her parents though, because she's afraid they'd not only make her eat in the kitchen for as long as she lives with them, but also disown her even though she is their only child.

I also found out the story behind her hair. Bella's mother is old fashioned and doesn't want her to cut it, so she doesn't. She said she wants to, though. She told me she hates her long hair, and I told her I think it's pretty one afternoon while we were eating peaches after lunch.

"I know," she snapped back. "But it's not as pretty as in your drawing!"

I'm not certain she sees herself clearly. The more I look at her, the more I think the drawing really didn't do her justice.

She told me she doesn't have any real friends, just acquaintances. I don't believe her.

"You're too pretty and charming to have no friends," I said.

"You're not half bad looking yourself, Edward, if I may say so myself. In fact, some people might say you're devilishly handsome. Yet, I've never seen you socializing with any other people. Don't you have friends?" she asked with a wink, emphasizing the word 'friends' as if it had a hidden meaning.

I shrugged my shoulders in response. "Not really," I answered casually.

While she has freely answered all of my tedious questions, I've become an expert at avoiding answering hers. I'm afraid, if she sees me for who I really am, she'll run for the hills, never to return.

"Why? I know I don't have friends because I was painfully shy and odd when I was a little girl, and most people I know still remember that odd girl. So they don't really want to befriend me. What's your story, Edward? I bet you have one," she said in a voice so low I felt like leaning closer to her to catch her words.

"I don't know. I guess I just don't like people. That's all. Not much of a story there," I answered disingenuously.

"Really? You don't like people at all? Or just not us southern girls?"

"I like you, Isabella."

"I like you too, Edward. Does that make us friends?"

"Yes, I hope so." That was another half-truth I told her.

I hope to be so much more than a friend to her. I know that with certainty already. It's as if she's mixed some magic from her bayou lady into the food she has been feeding me. I feel bewitched by her charm, her beauty, and her mind. It sounds strange even to me. I want to take the sadness in her eyes away and tell her she can do anything she wants with her life. She's gone from being the girl of my nighttime fantasies to the woman I want to be everything for if she would let me.

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	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Twilight. If I did, I'd go on a long trip.  
**

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**~ IV. ~**

_Sunday, June 28, 1931_

The heat in my room is becoming unbearable. I'm growing restless. I want to see her and I know that I won't; at least not until tomorrow. I miss her already. It doesn't make sense to me; how can you miss someone you barely know? Yet, the feeling of emptiness that settles over me when she's not near me tells me it's possible. I don't have to work tonight. It's only twelve o'clock and I'm already going stir-crazy, sweating like pig.

~000~

It's my own fault that I feel hopeless, disappointed and sore this evening. I should've just gone back to campus and studied in one of the empty lecturing halls, but I didn't. I couldn't stand the heat in my room any longer. Searching for an escape, a trip to a different place, a different time, I wandered outside to catch some rays of sun in the hopes of turning the pasty pallor of my skin golden while daydreaming of the girl, imagining her light singsong laughter and the places I would take her if she were mine.

So I found myself strolling down the streets in the blistering summer sun on this Sunday afternoon until I found a park. It was in a nicer part of town – nicer and richer than the one I live in. Among the tree lined paths and lusciously green meadows, there were families taking strolls or simply resting on one of the wooden benches, dressed in their Sunday best; others were in carriages riding the outer path of the park. The scene was idyllic and reminded me of Central Park. I found a shaded bench underneath a tree and started flipping through the pages of a book I'd carried along with me.

The book didn't hold my attention, and I must have fallen asleep for some time. When I woke up, the sun had gone down a bit, and the heat was no longer menacing and all consuming. I decided it was time to head home.

I stretched my legs, stood up and was on my way, when I saw her. I stood there frozen in the middle of a path leading around the great meadow staring at her, willing the image to be a figment of my imagination. I wanted to turn around and run in the other direction. She wasn't by herself; her arm was casually slung around the elbow of dapper looking young man in a well-tailored grey suit with a waistcoat and a hat. He was probably about my age but he looked younger, more alive and happy. She carried an umbrella to shield her from the sun; her face was turned up to him and I could see her talking animatedly. He leaned down to her and they both laughed.

I felt like an intruder. I realized it wasn't the time or the place for us to meet. I turned on my heel like a gutless stalker, too afraid to face reality, and started walking briskly in the opposite direction. I thought I was a safe distance away when I heard her voice.

"Edward, is that you?" I was surprised and shocked when I heard her voice calling out my name. I willed myself to take another step before I heard feet approaching on the gavel of the path.

"Edward! I know it's you!" Laughter followed.

I couldn't avoid her. Sooner or later I would've had to confront reality anyway, I told myself reassuringly; she was above me; not one step, but a whole staircase full of steps. The sooner I faced the music and saw her with another man, the better. I turned around to look at her. She was standing close to me now, her arm bent behind her head to hold her hat in place. She'd let go of the man's arm; he stood two steps behind her.

"Gosh, Edward, how are you? I was just telling Alec here about our lunch hours together and there you are!" she exclaimed in an excited voice. She smiled, closed up her umbrella and clutched her hands together in front of her chest.

I dared to glance into her eyes; they were sparkling with youthful mischief at that moment and instantly I felt regret at the realization that this guy she was with made her feel this way and not me. My eyes shifted between them, trying to figure out what their connection was.

"Oh, how rude of me," she gushed, while I remained silent. "Edward meet my friend Alec, Alec meet Edward," she introduced me to the man still standing a couple of feet behind her.

He nodded in my direction, politely extending his hand to me. I grasped it firmly. His touch was the opposite of mine. His hands felt warm and soft like Bella's hands; his touch as light as a feather.

"How do you do," he said courteously, taking his hat off.

"Fine, thank you. And here I thought you didn't have any friends, Isabella," I accused her playfully. Part of me wanted to chide her for telling me so much and yet so little about her life. Clearly she does have friends – male friends other than me – and judging from the sight of her walking arm in arm with him, friends whom she is close to.

"Oh, Alec and I grew up together and our families are very close, so you see we practically had no choice in the matter," she explained with a light laugh. "I think we may have been friends while still in the wombs of our mothers." She giggled.

I managed to tear my eyes off of her for a second to glance over to him. He was not quite as tall as I and was of slender build. His dark eyes looked kind and protective as he smiled at Bella. I could see affection and trust between them.

"I am happy to finally meet you after having heard so much about you during the last couple of days from Bella. I should thank you, Edward. My father's business in this town keeps me unfortunately very busy, and so I don't get to spend much time with Bella. I'm afraid I've failed miserably to entertain her and show her a good time. She usually gets bored quite easily, but you seem to have captured her attention," he said with a friendly yet cautious expression on his face.

"Is that so? Well, I'm glad to be of service and I can assure you there is no need to thank me since the pleasure of her company is all mine," I replied with a broad smile, trying to gage my competitor. I wanted to hate the man who had held the arm of my girl mere moments before, but I couldn't.

There was something about his demeanor that was so inherently non-threatening, a combination of docility and bookishness, as if he'd never lift a fist or even utter a rude word, that it was impossible to feel anything other than pleasant kindness toward the guy. His manners and appearance were quite literally disarming.

"It is such a nice surprise to run into to you. We must accidentally run into each other more often, please!" Bella begged with a childish grin on her face.

Even though both Bella and Alec acted like our meeting was perfectly normal and we were nearly good friends, I couldn't stand there and talk any longer. A look down at my worn out shoes was all it took to realize that their world and my world shouldn't mix.

"Well, I apologize for not being able to stay longer to chat, but I must run now. It was a pleasure meeting you Alec . . . Bella." I nodded to both of them and after they said their good-byes, I walked away.

When I found the nearest exit out of the park, I started running. I ran until I was out of breath and my shirt was soaked through.

Of course as I sit here in my dull room surrounded by yellowing, peeling wallpaper and old scraped furniture, I regret my hasty exist. I should have stayed around and talked. Maybe then I wouldn't sit here wondering whether he is formally courting her; maybe I would know what they are to each other. It feels like I'm going mad with jealousy in this hole; jealous of a perfectly nice, wealthy man who can give her all the things she likes; her fancy dresses, the luxurious perfume, a nice house complete with a green lawn and servants.

I have nothing but a couple of crumbled up dollars from my last paycheck, and I won't be able to earn a remotely decent living for years to come. I have nothing. I am nothing.

I need a drink to numb the pain. _Wheeler and the temperance movement be damned!_

~000~

_Monday, June 29, 1931_

I just woke up still dressed, but without a hangover. Whatever swill they were serving at Aro's dark speakeasy last night did not kill me, though my mere presence at his establishment got me into some trouble, resulting in a job offer that I refused without much thought. I'd avoided the place for a long time even though I drink there free of charge.

As appealing as Aro's offer looked for the status of my bank account, getting into business with the scariest proprietor of an illegal liquor establishment seems like a bad choice either way you turn it. God knows what other ventures Aro is involved in. I'm pretty certain none of them are within the realm of socially acceptable forms of business or even legal. Yeah, I'd have some more money, but in all likeliness I'd also end up in the very place that currently employs me, probably sooner rather than later.

The poor, unlucky, and above all, loosing sob whose life I tried to save last night might eventually turn up on my table too. Just hopefully not tomorrow. No, tomorrow might very well be his first day as Aro's accountant. I'm not sure whether I was successful in my attempts to convince Aro to hire Jasper Whitlock, but I gave it my best shot. Good luck hiding the money his establishment is bringing in, I'm thinking. But according to Alec, Jasper Whitlock is a master at fudging the numbers.

When I arrived late last night, a chubby girl, accompanied by a lousy piano player, was up on stage doing a bad rendition of 'Pirate Jenny.' Smoke was hanging thick in the air and half the customers where past the stage where they should have been served another drop of liquor. In my hurry to numb my jealous, petty mind, I ran into the worst place. Aside from the usual drunken disorder going on in places like this, there was always something else, something more sinister going on at Aro's.

Imagine my surprise then, when I had barely ordered my second drink, and noticed Alec, Bella's friend and the cause of my somber mood, sitting in a dark corner of the room. I could barely discern him through the smoky air, but I was certain it was him right of the bat. His expensive suit and stiff posture made him stand out in the rowdy crowd. He had a pipe in his hand and a glass filled to the brim with clear liquid. Alec nodded in my direction when he caught me staring.

His presence didn't make sense to me. I'd figured him rich enough to procure his own supply of illegal liquor for his home, and I wasn't sure what he was doing there in this run down, grimy basement. I was still puzzling over what brought him to this place, when they dragged in a badly beaten fellow dressed in a torn, dirty suit. As the goons who held him stopped by my table to wait for the backdoor to open, the badly beaten guy looked at me for a second too long. I could see desperation in his eyes, and in a last ditch effort to pray for mercy, he croaked out "help me, please!" The injuries he'd sustained so far looked gruesome and he'd probably look worse once Aro's crew was done with him. But there was nothing I could do about it.

My guess was that the guy probably couldn't pay his debts to Aro, and I sure as hell couldn't help him in that department. Though Aro did owe me a favor for pulling a bullet out of the arm of one of his handlers, saving him a trip to the hospital and trouble with the authorities, I knew I shouldn't get involved. It was pointless. You see, in my experience, even if you helped a fellow like this, they inevitably always ended up in the same spot you helped them out of.

I was about to shrug my shoulders and take a sip from my second drink, when I noticed Alec standing next to my table.

"May I?" he asked, pointing at the empty chair at my table.

"Suit yourself," I answered in a tone that sounded hostile, even for my taste. He wasn't discouraged by my cantankerous attitude and sat down as if I'd given him a well-mannered invitation to have a drink of the finest bourbon with me.

"I don't mean to intrude, but I couldn't help notice you exchanging words with Mr. Whitlock a minute ago. It's really quite a shame, the predicament he has found himself in, and I can't help but feel responsible for his demise."

I wavered for a second, wondering who Mr. Whitlock was when it dawned on me.

"Pardon me, Alec, but who are you referring to? The fellow who they dragged into Aro's backroom a minute ago? I wouldn't say I exchanged words with him," I said searching for confirmation of my suspicion. "And why would you be responsible for his troubles?"

If, indeed, he was to blame or had any hand in that guy's trouble, Bella's friend might not be as nice and clean as I originally thought.

"Well, Mr. Whitlock worked as an accountant for my father's business for some time. He'd always been an excellent employee until he developed a soft spot for my sister Jane, and made the doomed attempt to court her. I say doomed, not because I thought he was beneath her in status. No, rather doomed because my sister had certain expectations of life, and it was very clear from the beginning that he did not fit what she was looking for–"

"Alec? I may call you that, correct?"

He smiled and nodded once.

"I'm not sure how I come into the picture here? Or what I could possibly do to help him."

"Please give me moment of your time to explain further, if you don't mind?"

I shrugged my shoulders and let him continue.

"Unfortunately, you see, my sister, well she encouraged his misguided infatuation and made him buy her presents, which were most certainly beyond his means. Eventually he started gambling – cards I believe – to buy the gifts dear Jane desired. For a while he even won. Of course his winning streak ran out and inevitably he lost. In order to cover his debts, he took money from my father's business. My hands were tied in the matter and I had to let him go. The pity is that, other than his ill-fated love for my sister, Mr. Whitlock is a very honest man and an excellent accountant."

"That sounds like a sad story, but I'm still not certain I follow you on how this pertains to me?" I asked, corking an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"Well, I couldn't help but notice, when you walked in, the owner of this place greeted you personally. Something I see quite rarely happen at a place like this. So I thought you might be the right person to talk to him – Aro Volturi is his name, I understand. Maybe the proprietor could use a good accountant in handling the finances for his business. To put it plainly, I was wondering whether you might be able to broker a deal of some sorts whereby Mr. Whitlock's life would be saved in return for his services. Surely a good accountant could be quite advantageous for the owner of this fine establishment."

I chuckled at his description of Aro's place. There were a lot of words to describe it, but fine was definitely not one of them. I stared at him and he didn't avoid my glare. He seemed sincere from what I could tell.

In a bout of temporary insanity, I replied, "I can't guarantee that anything I say will help this guy, just so we are clear."

"Of course."

I got up slowly to knock on the door to the backroom. I really didn't even know why I got involved. Maybe it was the pathetic look of Mr. Whitlock or the story Alec had imparted; this poor slob in love with the wrong kinda gal. I'd never dare admit it, but empathy was possibly the reason that made me knock on that door.

One of Aro's men opened up and rushed me inside. I walked through a narrow corridor farther down into the pit of the building to where his office was, passing Mr. Whitlock still awaiting his punishment on my way.

Aro, the slimy fat old greaseball, sat behind his desk counting dirty dollar bills when I reached his office. He dropped the money and looked up at me with a wicked grin, revealing a row of tar stained yellow teeth and a fast receding gum line. I try my hardest not to cringe and back away every time I see him, but I'm not sure how sincere and friendly the expression on my face was when I approached him last night.

"Mr. Cullen, what can I do you for? Is there something wrong with the prime distilled liquor I'm serving tonight?" He grabbed a cigar slowly with his fat pudgy fingers, cut the end off with precision and lit it.

"I'm not here to complain or pay compliments about your product. I'd like to discuss the man, Jasper Whitlock I believe his name is, who is sitting out there waiting for an audience with you."

"What's he to you, Cullen?" He puffed on his cigar and narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what my game in all of this was.

"Nothing really. It's just that a friend of mine asked me to put in a good word for him. He mentioned that Mr. Whitlock is a very capable accountant and what a shame it would be not to put such valuable talent to good use. So I was wondering whether you'd have any use for him."

He laughed out loud and continued for some time. His roaring laughter reverberated in the room with exposed brick walls.

"Good accountant, huh? Okay, I'll think about it."

"That's all I'm asking," I said and motioned to leave.

"Cullen," he called after me.

"Yes." I turned around and saw him blowing smoke rings into the air, petting his protruding belly with his one hand as he did so.

"If you ever need for a job outside the morgue, come see me. I could use a fellow with a cool, clever head like yours. God knows the prohibition won't last forever and I'll need to find new ventures."

"I'll keep that in mind." I nodded and bade him farewell.

_Not in a million years_, I silently chanted to myself as I made my way up the stairs, _not in a million years._

In the clear, upstairs, I relayed my conversation with Aro to Alec. He thanked me profusely and handed me his business card, insisting that if I ever need anything to contact him. I got the hell out of there. Something about the night's events made me lose my taste for liquor. I fell into a deep sleep when I got home.

It's too early to go to the library now, and so I stay here lying in bed. I'm playing with the card now in my fingers. Alec is wealthy indeed. Even I – a nobody who knows no one in this town – am familiar with his last name. I pull out some matches and light the thick paper card in the sink.

When my watch reaches almost eleven o'clock, I'll shave and get ready to leave. I don't know whether I should mention to her that I ran into her friend last night.

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	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own Twilight. If I did, I'd tell some people to shove it.**

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**~ V. ~**

_Wednesday, July 1, 1931_

Bella didn't show up on Monday until late in the afternoon. I'd almost given up hope that she'd come. I started worrying whether Alec had said something to her about the place he'd seen me in and our interaction. I fretted about what she might think of me for drinking at night, and not only hanging out a place like Aro's, but also being familiar with the owner of such an establishment.

I was such a fool for worrying about it.

By the time the clock in the reading room turned three, I almost wasn't expecting her anymore. She surprised me by sneaking up behind me with her shoes in her hand and covering my eyes with her soft, warm hands before whispering into my ear, "Guess who?"

I didn't tell her that I would've been able to distinguish the ring of her voice from a million other ones.

"You know I only have one friend in this town," I murmured, covering her hands with mine and pulling them away from my eyes.

"It's no fun to play with you." A small frown appeared on her face, and I wanted to wipe it away.

I held on to her hand as she sat down next to me. She played with my fingers, inspecting them carefully; it felt surreal but so good. "Hey, it's too hot outside and too quiet in here to talk," she said in a low voice, leaning into me while turning the palm of my hand up for her inspection. "What do you say we get out of here?"

"Sure, where did you want to go to?"

"I don't know. Such pretty hands and such long fingers," she breathed into my face. She looked down and traced the lines in my hand with her delicate fingers, unaware of the effect she had on me. Or maybe she did know exactly what she was doing; a playful gleam shone in her eyes. "Let's go to the stacks upstairs, and I'll read you your fortune. I'll tell you about all the pretty girls you're going to meet and the riches you'll find."

I smiled in contentment for a minute, hoping she'd tell me not about my future, but ours.

"Come," she said standing up, reaching for my hand again. I held her hand and she started guiding me out of the main reading hall, ushering me through a small door behind the circulation desk I had never took notice of before.

It was almost completely dark inside once the door shut behind me; a small glimmering lamp a distance away was the only light source. There were no windows. We were in the belly of the building, cloaked in silence and darkness, alone. Stacked up on either side of us were shelves lined with books, and ahead was a small corridor that wound through the maze of bookcases. The ceilings were lower than in the rest of the library making it feel closed in, almost intimate.

I was wondering how she knew about this place. I hadn't even known it existed and I spent more time in this library during the past year than she had, I was certain.

"What is this?"

"This is where all the books that are no longer current go. And some that still are, but that nobody wants to read. They stock them here, and list them in the catalogues on the reference desk." Letting go of my hand she walked down to the main path.

I followed her, as she turned on light switches along the way for tiny lamps, which only provided a dim glow. Between one of the shelves, I saw narrow steps leading up and down to different floors, presumably all stuffed with books. When we reached the end of the corridor, she turned to the right. A small table with a reading lamp and two leather chairs appeared in sight behind the last row of bookshelves.

She sat down, turned on the reading lamp, and I sat down across from her.

"Give me your hands," she requested with a small smile. Leaning with my elbows on the table, I hesitated. I wanted to feel her hands, but I didn't like the questions I knew would follow.

"Is that the career you're dreaming of? To be a fortune teller?" I joked and she wrinkled her nose. She grabbed my hands quickly, before I could withdraw them.

"Any more wise cracks like that, and I'll be forever disappointed in you and won't come here anymore." Her voice sounded haughty and serious, but the left corner of her mouth tugged up involuntarily into an almost smile.

"Okay. You got me. Anything to keep you coming here – even telling me a fortune I don't want to hear," I sighed in defeat.

"Smart decision. Now, let me take a closer look at those nice hands of yours." She cupped her small hands around mine and looked at them intently, a tiny frown line forming between her eyebrows. "You play the piano," she stated with a small smile on her face without looking up.

"Used to," I divulged, shifting nervously in my chair. I didn't want to talk about myself. I felt trapped.

"Mm, I'm sure you could still play if you wanted to. You are not from this town, or this part of the country."

"You don't need to look at my hands for that."

"You're right. You're from up North . . . East . . . but not Boston, I would recognize the accent. You grew up in a city though. Philadelphia?" she asked, looking up at me.

I smirked.

"I guess that means no."

"New York?"

I nodded and swallowed. "Good guess."

"Pfft, not a guess at all. It's all there in your hands. Plus, the tone of your voice helped a bit, and I can't picture you in the countryside or on a farm. So you came here to study medicine . . . but why here? You're intelligent and considering the amount of time you devote to your studies I'm sure your grades were decent enough for you to get accepted into an equally, if not more, reputable institutions back North. The scholarship is enticing, I guess, but again, I'm sure some university closer to home would have offered you one as well."

"It doesn't matter and has nothing to do with my future," I said. She didn't flinch, but continued to stare at me. I couldn't take the scrutiny of her gaze anymore. She wanted to know, and I didn't want to break down and tell. I made a reluctant effort to pull my hands away, but she held on tightly, seemingly anticipating my reaction.

"Your past will influence your future," she said with authority, tracing the lines on my palms again. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the warm feeling that spread through me as she touched me. "So my guess is you were running away from something . . .what though?"

"Nothing. Nothing that matters," I muttered.

"Alec told me that he saw you last night –"

"Is that what this is about?" I yelled at her in anger, before continuing in a lower voice. "You think I was some bootlegging gangster in my former life, hiding here, enrolled at a university?" A loud, sarcastic laugh escaped me. "Let's get something straight. I don't owe you any explanation. If I had been bootlegger back up North, trust me, I'd have a whole lot more money."

I tore my hands away from hers. I knew I was being unfair, but I couldn't take the question and answer session about my life. I got up and was about to run out of there. I knew I'd be making possibly the biggest mistake of my life, but I couldn't stay there. I wanted to crawl out of my skin sitting there with her.

_I don't want to be this version of myself and I don't want her to see me that way. _

"Why are you so angry, Edward? I thought no such thing; Alec didn't tell me any specifics of where he ran into you, but from the sounds of it you were at some sort of gin mill. I don't care about that, and never in a million years would I figure you to be gangster."

Her words calmed me down, drew me back in. I turned around and saw tears waiting to spill.

"I'm sorry." I glanced up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words. "Look, my past is my past. I liked who I was back then, but that person is dead now. He's never coming back. And this, the man who is standing here now, is all that's left. It's not much, I know, but I was hoping it was enough . . ." My shoulders sank in resignation. My courage had left me, and with it, the last words of my sentence.

"Enough for what, Edward?" she asked with her chin raised.

"I don't want to fight with you, but I don't . . . I don't want to talk about my past." I slumped back down in the seat across from her. I couldn't leave her even if I tried.

"I promise, I won't prod again, cross my heart and hope to die!" she said with a smile. I smiled back, unsure of what to do. "For the record, Alec said he thought you were a decent man and he would . . . well . . . if you ever . . . I don't know . . . forget I said anything."

I'd never before heard her stutter or falter.

"Well, he seems like a nice guy himself, not that I know him all that well. It sounded like you were about to ask another question. Go ahead, ask," I said with a resigned sigh. I hoped she'd make good on her promise not to prod and that the question would be harmless.

"No, I don't want to ask, and it's not my role to ask. It's yours." She grinned, and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

For a second my heart skipped a beat, then it felt like it stopped, only to start beating again in rapid speed; my palms were suddenly sweaty and I couldn't look at her. I chuckled nervously and started pulling my hair, trying to figure out how to ask her…

"Bella, you are lovely girl, and in my previous life I would have come to your house and asked your parents –"

She held her hands up to stop me.

"Hold up, Edward. No parents, no family, nothing serious. Just you and me and maybe a movie show, I thought. Beside, you're not the old-fashioned type."

I didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"I would love to take you to the movies sometime, Isabella . . . what's your last name?"

"Swan. Isabella Marie Swan."

"Isabella Marie Swan, would do me the honor of accompanying me on a date?"

"Silly, you didn't have to be that formal about it. You sounded like you were proposing marriage, while it's only a couple of hours at night outside of this dusty library. Not a lifetime! How does Sunday sound?" She leaned back in her chair, now laughing.

"I asked. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that's what you wanted right? So this Sunday it is. Where should I pick you up?"

"You are not suggesting picking me up from my aunt's house, are you?" She looked at me in horror. "That wouldn't be a good idea. We can meet at the main gate of campus if you like?"

My fingers start playing with the cuffs of my shirt as my eyes darted around the dark stacks and the light between us. I didn't know where to look. I didn't want to see her eyes for fear of seeing dismissal. _Maybe she just wants to have fun; I'm an adventure to her and nothing more._

"Listen, Edward, you don't want to talk about your past, and there are certain things I cannot explain to you right now," she murmured, tugging at my fingers. I let go of my cuffs and folded her hands up in mine.

I glanced into my favorite brown eyes, hoping to see that I was more to her than some guy to pass the time while she is bored in this city. I couldn't decipher what I saw in her eyes. I pulled up her hands, and slowly brought my lips to her fingers and kissed them. She surprised me for the second time that day when she bent down and touched my fingers with her lips.

"I have to go now. I'll be gone all week, but I promise to be back on Sunday. How does four o'clock sound?" she asked, hurriedly getting up.

"Perfect."

I was happy, but then my mind wondered where she would be all week. I wanted to ask her, but I kept my mouth shut. It wasn't fair to ask, if I offered so little answers myself.

Reaching the door to the front hall to leave the dark, dusty and musky smelling stacks, I was tempted for a second to pull her back to me for a brief hug . . . maybe a kiss. But the moment was whisked away by the rays of bright sunlight entering through the crack of the door as she opened it. I watched her after she bade me a brief farewell; her dress of bright light yellow chiffon blended with the sunlight and ballooned around her knees as she skipped down the stairs.

_Sunday I will see her again_.

I ran to work after our meeting in the library and asked for a double shift the next day, so that I could have Sunday off. The head of the department wasn't happy, but he likes me, so he made an exception.

I am content now lying in my steaming hot room. I can be a patient man. _For you Isabella Marie Swan, I will wait until the last breath leaves my lungs._

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***Cheese* - Reviews make me smile. Even bad ones. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Happy Halloween!**

**I don't own Twilight. **

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**~ VI. ~**

_Saturday, July 4, 1931  
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The week just won't pass; every day drags by slower than the last as the heat swelters. I worked two extra shifts to limit the time I spent in my room dreaming of, or agonizing over Bella – depending on how my mood strikes me.

At first, I pushed it aside as unimportant when she didn't want me to pick her up from her aunt's house, but now the unanswered question of "why" is festering in my gut. The rational part of my brain argues that she's only just met me and there is nothing formal to our friendship. I know I want to be more than a casual friend. The thought that _this_ might be all I'll ever be to her scares and worries me, until my stomach is in a knot and I can't eat, sleep, or think straight anymore. I will Sunday to come. I wonder where she is all week. I wish she didn't have to leave town and would visit me instead at the library to rouse me out of the monotony that is my existence without her.

I don't know what her expectations are and, therefore, I'm entirely uncertain on how to prepare for our afternoon together. I had my one still decent suit washed and pressed. I contemplate buying flowers and handing them to her, but they would possibly wilt in this heat if she has to walk with them in hand, and so I throw out that idea.

This concern or more appropriately, this fixation, about a date with a girl is foreign to me. I have spent time with girls, women – whatever you want to call them; blondes, redheads, brunettes – I never had any particular preference, so long as they were nice to look at. In fact, you could probably say I was indifferent. They were random acquaintances who were easily charmed without much effort on my part, and I consumed what they willingly offered, never dreaming of a future with any of them. Intimacy was of no consequence to me. I could live with or without it. It felt like the world was at my fingertips back in those days, waiting for me to explore and exploit as I saw fit.

And I was fine with my current life before she strolled along, with her fancy dresses and her unsolicited opinions. I had school, a job, and a future I could look forward to. I seldom mourned my past. But now, the vision of the future, of becoming a doctor, has lost some of its shine. I still wanted to finish what I started, but if I end up without her, what kind of future would that be?

Clouds are hanging heavy in the sky today, yet no one seems deterred; Independence Day celebrations are in full swing. Flags are everywhere, and the smells of burning charcoal bricks, grilled meat and cotton candy hang in the air. Stores are selling frivolous fireworks that nobody can cough up the money for.

I promised my landlady, Mrs. Cope, that I would visit her this afternoon to taste some of the ribs she was preparing. It might rain and I'll have to sit in her overstuffed, murky-smelling dark living room. Judging by the general state of disrepair, bordering on decay, of the house, she doesn't have much, and that's why so far I've always declined her invitations. Even her clothing looks more worn out and patched together than mine. I'd seen her once in line for food at a church, and I can't shake that image of her: an old woman with grey hair lining up for some leftover charity items.

I don't feel like going downstairs, but I'll do so anyway. It's the polite thing to do. She never has any visitors other than her sister, and even she seems to be coming with less frequency these days.

I used to like this holiday. We'd usually spent it out in Long Island; we'd have a barbeque on the lawn, girls in sundresses strolling by on the beach and some fireworks towards the end of the day. Now I don't care for any holidays.

~000~

My afternoon visit with Mrs. Cope was painfully dull and did nothing to distract me; all my thoughts were still with the girl. Neither of us had much to say to the other, and I swore to myself I wouldn't do this again. My landlady and I sat around for about half an hour in silence after we'd finished the food; me staring at a wall cluttered with pictures of her dead husband, and she staring at the clock wondering when or if her sister would come.

To make matters worse, the food was bad. I never cared much for food and nowadays I eat anything just to fill my stomach. Yet I couldn't help but notice the stark difference between the meals Bella brought along for random lunches during the week and the food Mrs. Cope served on a holiday. Thinking about lunch with Bella made my stomach growl, and all I thought about while staring at the fading photographs was her. Thankfully Mrs. Cope's sister and her husband showed up eventually, and I managed to excuse my early departure by pretending to have to study.

I can't wait for tomorrow to come. I push my worries about why I shouldn't like the girl as much as I do aside and concentrate on the positive. She wants to see me, her lips touched my fingers, and her hands were wrapped in mine. I still haven't figured out what she sees in me, but I'm more hopeful that she must see something. Something that I can't quite see anymore, but that is still there somewhere. I will try my hardest to live up to her expectations. It will likely take me a long time to offer her anything, but today I hope that she'll wait for me. I know I would wait for her,

_Sunday, July 5, 1931_

I feel like am the luckiest bastard alive. I don't care about the fact that tomorrow I have to pull another night shift at the morgue; I don't care that I'll be stuck in the same rut of working and studying for the foreseeable future without much pay. Even the past seems less depressing. The guilt that usually looms over me is temporarily gone. It all seems distant and meaningless in comparison to her–at least for tonight.

I was early and waited for her on a bench near the gate. When she arrived five minutes late, I was already starting to get nervous, worrying that she might not show. But then she came walking around the corner in a tight-fitting robins blue dress with ruffles around its plunging neckline. I recognized her figure from the distance and swore I could smell her perfume in the air. I stayed on my spot on the bench, frozen in place, mesmerized by her figure as she sauntered over and sat down next to me.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Cullen." She poked my arm with her elbow and winked.

"Ms. Swan." I smiled and nodded.

"So, how have you been?"

"Fine, thank you for asking. How have you been? Or more interestingly, where have you been?" I asked out of curiosity, even though in the imaginary screen-by-screen sequence of our meeting, I wouldn't have asked that question; it sounded needy.

"I had the displeasure of spending the holiday in Savannah with Aunt Petunia at her cousin's house. It was utter boredom. We played bridge and sipped tea laced with whiskey. So there you have it! I'm sure your week was so much more exciting than mine. At least you can do and say as you please."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I doubt my week would qualify as exciting. Shall we go?"

"Yes, please!" She jumped off the bench and clapped her hands, like a kid who's going to the candy store.

I offered her my arm and she wound hers around it. As we wandered down the avenue, we looked like any regular young couple on a lazy, late Sunday afternoon stroll and I smiled.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Because I'm walking down the street in this boring city, as you call it, with you."

"It's not really boring to me anymore since I found you."

"You found me?"

"Yes, I did. Admit it. If it were up to you, you'd still be drawing way too flattering pictures of me in the nude, from the distance, and I'd have to find another depressing book to read about silly, delusional or unhappy women."

Embarrassed by her honesty, I shook my head.

"I'm curious, are there any places you don't find boring, Bella?"

"Of course there are perfectly exciting places that are not boring at all. I find New York exhilarating; I can tolerate Boston – just not in the winter; Savannah is really not that bad as long as one doesn't have to stay with relatives; and of course I love New Orleans."

"So why didn't you stay there – with your parents – I mean? Not that I'm complaining that you are in Atlanta. After all, I wouldn't have had the pleasure of meeting you."

"Before I left my parents, they were nagging me every day about something they think I ought to do. Living with Aunt Petunia really isn't much better – she nags too – but at least she's half deaf and doesn't hear when I come or go. And she has a good stash of Port hidden in her basement."

I chuckled at the girl's taste for liquor and pulled her closer to me. When we arrived at the movie theater, Bella was excited that the movie showing that night was "Dracula." She'd read the book when she was a young girl and loved it. I didn't care what was happening on the screen in front of me. My eyes were mostly focused on her, as she sat chewing on her bottom lip and furrowing her eyebrows while staring at the screen and clutching my hand. Halfway through, she got spooked by the movie and leaned her face into my shoulder. I took the opportunity to put my arm around her.

After the movie, we talked and walked and touched. Careful touches that left me wanting more, like her hand gently swinging by mine, and my arm brushing her side. At every tree and every building entrance we passed, I was tempted to pull her into my arms to kiss her, but I resisted. Toward the end of the night, we returned to the bench where we met.

"So I'm getting a ride home in about. . ." she murmured, chancing a glance at her watch, standing in front of me, "in about ten minutes from the corner over there." I wasn't ready to let go of her yet, and I was searching for a reason to keep her with me longer.

So I missed what she was silently asking for when she placed one hand on my shoulder, bent her head back slightly and glanced up at me expectantly.

"So where does the deaf aunt live? If it's not too far, I'll walk you," I said, desperate for more time and wondering who was giving her a ride, oblivious to the opportunity.

"She lives all the way up in Buckhead. It's too far to walk," she answered with a huff, giving me an annoyed glance from underneath her eyelashes. "Look, Edward, I don't have all night."

I laughed. Bella's head was in the same place as mine all along, but I had been too focused on getting her to stay to figure out that she wanted me to kiss her.

"Oh, I see," I said with a smirk.

She seemed offended for a second, but then closed her eyes and jutted her chin forward. I placed my hands on her waist slowly and bent my head down with a smile on my face. I couldn't help but tease her. _The girl is too cocky and pretty for her own good_. I grinned as my lips almost touched hers and I felt her breathe against my mouth_. So close_. I waited a bit longer. She got impatient and smacked me with her purse on the arm. It was a game I knew how to play. When she was about to pull away from me, I tightened my grip, pulled her closer and let my lips graze hers. She kissed me lightly back, her lips barely touching mine.

Considering how brazen and confident the girl acts, her kiss was the opposite– innocent and inexperienced. This was new to her.

I briefly glanced at her, her white skin shining in the moonlight, her red lips and the purple of her closed eyelids adorned by long dark lashes; so pretty, so sweet that I wasn't sure why nobody had done this to her before. I moved my lips back to hers to kiss her properly. Her mouth responded to mine, cautiously at first until she got it. She opened her mouth for me, wrapped her hands around my neck and pushed herself against me, wanting more.

We kissed until she was out of breath and flushed crimson.

"I gotta run," she breathed. "Will you be in the library tomorrow?"

"It can be arranged."

"Well, arrange it then, please. Good night, Edward."

"Good night, Bella. Sweet dreams."

She walked to the corner, and I heard a car pull up and the door being opened and closed. The car took her away to a suburb famous for its fancy mansions, away from me.

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**I'd love to hear what you think! Leave me a review if you are reading this. **


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't own Twilight. If I did, I'd run off to St. Barts to make my pale skin glow golden. **

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**~ VII. ~**

_Saturday, July 11, 1931_

I slept in. I don't have anywhere to be today – no work, no studying. Bella already announced that she had other plans for today. I want to be angry with her that she is withholding the pleasure of her company from me, but I can't. She has come to the library, bringing lunch every day for the past week. I don't care anymore why she does it, I'm just happy to be with her. We've kissed secretly behind the library, held hands underneath the table while reading and talked; it's all I need.

She dragged me to the music department one afternoon and made me play the piano for her. I'm still not sure how she knew with such certainty that I could play.

I had not touched an instrument in over a year, but because she smiled for me, her eyes brimming with joy, I gave in and played Chopin for her. She said it was pretty, but too old and stuffy. I played some Gershwin tunes for her that my mother had hated. Bella loved it.

It felt good to play, but only because of her.

I will see her tomorrow. Until then I will daydream of her, her smile, her voice and her kisses.

_Sunday July 12, 1931_

We met at the park this time; the park I'd last seen her at with Alec. She was standing at the main entrance when I arrived ten minutes before our meeting time. She nervously looked around when I walked briskly toward her. I sensed something was wrong, unnerving her.

I tried to kiss her on the cheek, but she pulled away.

"Edward, this was a bad idea. Can we please leave?"

I faked a smile. "Sure."

I offered her my arm, but she didn't grab it like she usually did. We walked away from the entrance of the park, along the conservatory and toward the road, not touching.

"Bella Swan!" I heard a woman's voice screeching from behind us. I glanced briefly over my shoulder and saw a short woman with garish red lipstick running after us. "Bella!"

Bella sighed before turning around and putting a bright, but insincere, smile on her face.

"Hello, Alice," she said in a deceivingly sweet as candy voice. Her edgy behavior suddenly made sense. I could tell she'd been trying to avoid this meeting. "What a pleasure to see you here!"

"I thought it was you, but Rose ignored me. Rose, I was right. It is Bella." The small black haired woman started waving her hand at a tall, bored-looking blonde who was standing a distance away.

"So, where's Alec? And aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" the short one asked with an inquisitive grin on her face. She gave me the once over before returning her gaze to Bella. Her oddly grey eyes were peering at Bella like a bird would at its prey.

"Oh, I'm meeting him in a just a little while, now …" Bella answered, trying to find a polite escape from an uncomfortable encounter. I kept my distance, standing a few feet behind her.

"Hello, Bella," the blonde said in a detached tone when she arrived. The expression on her face never changed; completely aloof, she glanced with calculating blue eyes at Bella, and then tugged at the elbow of the raven-haired nosey one. "Alice here insisted on saying hello, but actually we are in a hurry to meet someone to watch a golf tournament. We really do have to run. Please excuse us."

Before the other woman could protest and dig her heels in, the cool blonde led her away with a firm grip on her arm.

I watched the whole exchange like someone would watch a stage play from the audience; my presence was alluded to and without it, presumably, there wouldn't have been a show, but I never participated.

When they were out of sight, Bella exhaled loudly.

"I must remember to thank Rose. Let's get out of here, please," she said with a pleading, apologetic expression on her face.

We walked side by side, not exchanging a single word until Bella seemed satisfied that we were a safe distance away. She reached for my hand and I pulled it away, instead pushing it into the pocket of my pants. I got it. I knew being seen with me embarrassed her. Those women were probably acquaintances from her real life – the life she led when she wasn't with me. To them, I didn't exist. Yet I couldn't shake the sting of rejection I felt, and so I kept my distance.

"You're mad at me," she finally said when I didn't look at her.

"No, I'm not."

"You seem distant. I'm sorry. Alice is a wretched little gossip hag, and I didn't know what else to do."

"It's fine. I understand. You don't want people to know about us," I stated matter of factly in a distant tone. The last sentence escaped me without much thought. I couldn't look at her, not because I was mad, but because I didn't want to see confirmation of what I already knew to be true: I was nothing to her. I wasn't really a part of her life. She liked the thrill of doing things that were forbidden to her; spending time with me was just that.

"No, that's not true," she said in a shaky tone. I thought I could hear tears in her voice. I stopped in my tracks abruptly and chanced a glance at her face. A tear was rolling down her cheek. Without hesitation, I wiped the tear away with my thumb.

"Don't cry. I'm not mad, please," I begged, unsure of how to touch her. She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. I held her tightly to my chest, and when people started staring at us, I pulled her to the side where she cried silently into my shoulder.

"Please don't leave me," she whispered.

"I would never leave you, Bella."

I knew it was the truth when I spoke the words. Between the two of us, she would have to be the one to end it. She dried her tears slowly, while I held her. When she let go of me, we walked down the city streets for some time before stopping at a diner and ordering coffee. We sat and stared at our coffee cups until the steam stopped rising from them, both of us too afraid to say or acknowledge what had just happened. I couldn't find the right words.

"It's not that I'm embarrassed to be seen with you, Edward. You have to know that." She was braver than I was, and so she beat me to it. She leaned forward and timidly touched my hand.

I could understand that she wasn't ready to introduce me to her friends and family, and even I wanted to wait longer for that; at least until I had a plan. I needed to figure out what kind of life I could offer her before taking the next step. What scared me was the possibility that what _we_ _had_, the time we spent together, wasn't real to her; that she had a life without me, and possibly with someone else, whereas my life had become meaningless without her.

"Is there anybody else?" I asked, looking straight into her eyes.

"No, why would think that?" she answered with her eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"What about this guy – Alec? Your friends seemed to assume that you would be with him."

She laughed and I felt myself getting angry.

"Don't call her my friend. She is not. You don't understand … " she said.

"Then explain it to me!"

"Edward, Alec has been my friend for as long as I can remember. Neither of us has any romantic interest in the other. In fact, he is helping me, so that I can spend time with you. He's pretending for my aunt that he's taking me out, and then drops me off wherever I tell him to. He knows about us. Do you understand?"

I felt like a fool. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"I don't know. It's not like you tell me a lot about yourself. I have to guess everything. Plus, I don't want you to feel like I'm trying to hide you or anything. I just need some time to sort things out."

I sighed. She was right. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"I don't know, Edward. You have to decide what you want to share with me. I know you work at night at the hospital, and you study medicine. You never talk about anybody. I don't know whether you have a brother or sister, how you grew up…for Pete's sake, Edward, you never even told me where you're from. I guessed that, and you never bothered to confirm or deny, not really anyway." She looked furious and annoyed and she had every right to be.

I exhaled and started my confession. "I'm from New York. I have no family. My dad died last year of a heart attack; technically that was the cause of his death. What killed him long before his heart gave out was losing everything he'd ever earned when the market crashed, and then my brother to tuberculosis shortly afterward. My mother is still alive, barely though, and she doesn't recognize me. The last time I visited her, she thought I was a stranger and begged the nurses to send me out of her room. She lives in a mental ward, and judging by the conditions of that place, probably not for much longer. I've tried to move her out of there … into a nicer place, but it's not feasible. Even if I'd stayed in New York, found a full-time job and worked every single hour of the day, it wouldn't be enough to pay for a private hospital. Instead of dealing with it, I ran away. They offered me this scholarship at a place that seemed far enough away and I took it. I am a coward. Are you happy now?"

She shook her head and I continued.

"As to what I do to support myself, 'cause I can't say I'm earning a living, I work the night shift at the morgue, first ripping apart and then sewing dead bodies back together. I took the job, not because I like it, but because the pathology department pays the best rates for someone who barely finished his first year of medical school. My pay covers rent, books and food. That's it. It's the whole story. I'm nothing, and I have nothing to offer – at least not for some time. Someone like you shouldn't waste her time on someone like me."

I searched her eyes for what I expected to see: misguided pity and resentment. But I couldn't find it. She just stared at me, and then her lips twitched up in a half smirk.

"I still don't understand why you wouldn't tell me earlier. None of it sounds like anything to be ashamed of. You are not a coward for walking away when there was nothing you could have done. And what do you mean by someone like me?" she asked, sounding exasperated.

"I should have stayed in New York and at least tried." I shook my head and looked at her. "And you're pretty, intelligent and from a wealthy family. You deserve someone who can give you what you are accustomed to. That's not me." I gazed into her eyes before making the more painful admission. "But I can't seem to stay away from you."

"Then don't. You are strong and smart; you know what you want, and how to get it. I wish I could say the same for myself. You have everything going for you, and if you'd look up from your books more often while you are studying in the library, you'd notice there're plenty of girls who'd love to go on a date with you."

"I'm not sure how many women would find my current job all that appealing," I teased with a chuckle, relieved suddenly. I wanted to tell her, "I'm weak and not smart," but I couldn't. A frown formed on her face. "I don't want to be with anyone else but you, Bella."

She blushed when I told her the truth. I reached out for her hand and kissed it. "Let's get out of here," I requested in a low voice.

I walked her to the corner, and we waited together for Alec's car to appear. I kissed her goodnight and nodded in his direction, a silent sign of my gratitude, before they drove off.

Without even placing a call to the number on his business card, he has done more for me than most people I know, and I can't quite fathom why. I rack my brain about it, sitting in my unexpectedly brighter room.

I guess hope makes everything seem brighter and, for some reason, I am hopeful; hopeful that she will wait for me; hopeful that she feels something that is worth waiting for in me.

_Thursday, July 16, 1931_

I don't think I've been this content in a long time, and I'm now convinced I can be patient. Brown eyes, soft skin and sweet kisses are all that I need to be. Her food is really delicious, even if she doesn't cook it, but I don't need it. I could live off of air and Bella alone.

_Friday, July 17, 1931_

I may have discovered my new virtue, but patience certainly isn't hers. In fact, I think I may have misjudged my girl in a lot of areas. What she lacks in experience, she makes up for in ferocious curiosity.

She stopped by later than usual today, and when she entered the reading room and our eyes locked, she motioned for me to follow her by crooking her finger.

And I did follow her. I caught up with her at the stairs leading up to circulation desk.

"Sorry, I'm late and I didn't have time to cook," she muttered as we walked up the stairs, reaching for my hand.

I chuckled; I couldn't help myself.

"What's so funny?" she requested with a smile.

"Honestly … you didn't have time to cook?" I cocked one eyebrow at her.

She folded her arms in front of her chest and the smile that had been dancing on her lips disappeared.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" she asked with eyebrows raised in disapproval.

"Nothing."

"You're full of it, Cullen. Spit it out!" Her foot tapped on the stone floor impatiently.

"Oh, come on, Isabella Marie Swan! You don't expect me to believe that you, the incarnation of a spoiled, rich girl, if ever there was one, spends time in the kitchen engaging in such menial tasks as cooking?" I teased, still laughing a little.

"Pray tell. Who do you think prepared all those lunches for you?"

Shocked by my own miscalculations, I stumbled in my response.

"Um, yeah, I mean ... " I started, scratching the back of my neck nervously. "I thought since your aunt obviously lives in a nicer part of town, she certainly must have a cook I assumed. I mean … I … ugh … I just couldn't imagine you in a kitchen … you know, cooking?"

"Oh, Edward. You _are_ a fool! Why would I claim credit for something I haven't actually prepared? Never mind that aunt Petunia can barely pay the gardener these days, and if she doesn't watch it, she'll lose the house that is sitting on those nicely manicured lawns. Why do you think she's suffering from migraines?"

She didn't change her position, but I could tell she was no longer mad – more like amused.

"I apologize. Please forgive me," I said with sincerity. I truly did feel bad that I'd judged her so poorly.

"You're forgiven," she said with a smile, dragging me by my elbow towards the stacks behind the door, "if you kiss me."

And I kissed her in the dark and dusty halls stacked with old books, like I wanted to the first time she took me there. The kiss started out slowly; sweet soft lips pressed against mine, her mouth opened, my tongue licking her bottom lip. I wanted more and I knew I shouldn't. This couldn't lead anywhere. _She is not that kind of girl_, I reminded myself.

I inhaled deeply, cupping her face with my hands to kiss the rest of her pretty features, but she wanted none of that; she'd had enough of tender kisses. Instead, she captured my mouth with hers, her lips crashing into mine with force. It still wasn't enough; she wanted more. Impatiently she grabbed my hands and placed them on her chest. When I stepped away, moving my hands back down to her waist, she closed the distance and started unbuttoning my shirt.

I want to touch; I want to feel _living_, _breathing skin_ glide below my fingertips. Bella's skin, skin that smells like soap and perfume. My body screams for it, for her.

Yet, I grabbed her wrists and stopped her. Her face fell, and I knew what she felt: rejection.

"Bella, we shouldn't. Not here and not now."

"I'm not some princess to be put on a pedestal," she said in anger, before turning around and walking deeper into the labyrinth of bookcases.

"Bella, wait!"

She halted until I caught up with her. I reached for her shoulder. I wasn't sure how to tell her that I would never in a million years reject anything she offered; that I was in love with her; that to me she was, and would always be, everything – everything I desired and craved.

I could sense, though, that _that_ was not what she was looking for at that moment.

I was weak and gave in. I started kissing her along her neck, and let my hands trail up to her breasts where they'd yearned to be all along. She turned around, and this time I didn't pull away. I touched her like I would have in one of my fantasies; she felt so much better than I'd imagined, and her touch was magic, setting off feelings I'd never experienced before. Her hands tugged my shirt out of my pants and touched my bare back. Stumbling back into a bookshelf, I grabbed one of her legs and hitched it up, pushing my hips against her. She felt good, perfect, made for me, but everything else about this was wrong.

"We shouldn't …" I panted, my erection throbbing painfully, close to losing my head and the rest of me to her. I pushed myself away from her a little. "Not here, please."

"Fine," she relented.

And we stopped. I sank onto the floor with her on my lab, sheltered between two bookcases. I held her and touched her lightly, my fingers gliding over her cheek, her neck and down to her collarbone. I kissed her on her forehead, and while I rested my head against hers, she whispered, "Edward?"

"Yeah."

"How many women have you been with?" I looked at her face in surprise, expecting her cheeks to be pink. But she didn't react - she didn't even blush.

"Well, that would be rude and indiscreet of me to tell." I maneuvered around answering her question, shifting uncomfortably on the linoleum floor.

"I'm not asking for names. I'm asking for a number."

I laughed nervously. "Why would you want to know?"

"Why don't you want to tell me? I always thought that was something men bragged about."

"I don't. Not many. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"Come on! How many is 'not many' exactly? And why are you acting all uptight about it? It's just sex, right?" She stabbed me in the ribs with her fingers. "You are blushing, Edward. This is getting funny. Tell me!"

"No, I'm not."

"Oh, yes you are. I want a number. Five?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Ten?"

"Stop it. Why do you care?" I responded in anger. For some reason I suddenly felt ashamed of my past indiscretions, and the fact that she made me feel that way annoyed me more than anything.

"I'm curious. I've never been intimate with a man. Don't get me wrong; I don't think I'm a prude. I just never wanted to with anyone until I met you." My anger melted away gazing into pools of dark mellow brown. "So, more than ten then?"

I counted in my head to be halfway in the ballpark. I gave her the correct number, I believe.

"Okay. . . I think about eight. Happy now?" I admitted with some bitterness, expecting her to be upset, but she didn't look it.

"Eight? If a girl had that number people would call her promiscuous, a whore even." She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Never mind that . . . so tell me, if you had no qualms about sleeping with any of these women, why are you so reticent to sleep with me? I mean you do want to. I think I can feel as much."

My cheeks were practically burning, yet she remained perfectly calm. "Bella, we've barely known each other for – what – a couple of weeks?"

"Was that one of your previous requirements? That you knew the girl for a while?" she teased.

With a huff, I replied, "Fine, since you are so curious. It's because … I like you … I think I … may be in love with you. Are you happy now?" I wished the floor below me would give in and swallow me up whole. I was terrified by my own admission.

"Liar," she said with a laugh. I stared at her. It was her turn to shift awkwardly.

She didn't return the sentiment in words, but when she kissed me, desperate and needy with her hands on my face, I thought I could feel it. We kissed until she had to go home, and I had to go to work.

I'm worried about my admission. She didn't say it back and I wonder why. I admire the girl for her lack of embarrassment in talking about something she has no experience with. Her kisses and touches are so innocent, yet there is something much wiser and more grown up about her words. I know I won't be able to sleep tonight because my mind will replay this afternoon over and over again.

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**Reviews make me feel warm and mellow like the rays of the Caribbean sun. **

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	9. Chapter 9

**Warning: I'm using the work "cock" in this chapter. It's cringe-worthy. I think I'm going to have to retreat even deeper into the ff-closet now. **

**I don't own Twilight. If I did, I'd award my fictional Eddie the living stipend for pretty boys.**

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**~ VIII. ~**

_Sunday, July 19, 1931_

We were supposed to meet today, but she never showed up. Alec showed up in her stead at our bench, an hour after she was supposed to be there. He gave me a letter from her.

It's sealed with wax which has her initials stamped into it. I don't dare to open it. It's sitting on the small desk in my room.

He told me an unexpected social call she needed to make interfered with her plans, and that she was terribly sorry that she couldn't make it.

I suspect it's a lie. I've confessed my love for her and she's running. She doesn't feel the same. Or she wants to stop this before this – _us_ – gets out of hand. She knows it's not possible. We can't be.

~000~

I sat there half the night, playing with her letter in my hand, fully expecting it to be a goodbye note. I briefly contemplated my response if this was the end. I'd have to find her to speak to her. I wouldn't be able to leave it like this.

When I opened it, I was stunned. It was only one line; two sentences, black on white.

_I love you, Edward Cullen. I will miss you today. _

_Bella_

I'm still staring at her note. There is no doubt, no 'may be'. She's braver than I am. She's not a coward. Her handwriting is ridiculous, not at all elegant. But I love it, the words, her handwriting and the rest of the girl.

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_New Orleans, 1950_

_I feel like an intruder, yet I can't put them down. I pick up the notebook in my hands and hold it in front of my face. His handwriting is cursive and elegant; it perfectly represents the romantic he obviously was or maybe still is. I contemplate closing his notebook and putting it away. A small envelope falls out. The paper is heavy, and when I see the seal, I know who wrote it and what the note inside says. Nevertheless, I open the envelope up carefully and take out the small card. I always liked her handwriting. I disagree with Mr. Cullen's assessment. It's not ridiculous; her script is masculine and strong, in stark contrast to her outward appearance. I barely remember her; only little things, like the color of her hair in the sun, her dazed eyes, her small figure and the smell of something sweet. He kept the note. I flip to the next page and continue reading his diaries. _

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_Saturday, July 25, 1931_

I was walking on air when I strolled to the library last Monday. Her note meant that I stood a chance; that _we_ were more than just a daydream. I was starting to wonder about our future in earnest. As I looked at some of the nicer homes along my walking route to school, I contemplated what would be enough for her. Would some of the smaller bungalows in the less desirable neighborhoods of town be fine with her or would she be miserable in it?

I'd never before thought about settling down. Consequently, I'd never worried about how to obtain enough money to pay for those sorts of things – a wife and kids.

Money had never impressed me. I never strove to be rich, but the minute I knew I couldn't turn my back on the girl and walk away I couldn't help but regret my lack of ambition concerning all pecuniary things.

I'm not sure I can change though, at least not completely. I still personally don't care about money; I need very little to live on; I only want it for her.

My family certainly wasn't wealthy, but we weren't poor either; at least not until Black Tuesday hit and wiped away our savings. Instead of reading _The Wall Street Journal_, as my father, the earnest little bookkeeper, recommended, I read Little Blue Books on anything from _Socialism_ to _How To Pleasure Your Spouse_.

Although, my dad argued with me forcefully that the knowledge I gained from reading any of those _pinko books_, as he called them, would be useless, and I was better off taking another math class and reading the _Journal_, I'd ignored him. Emmett had been around to fulfill his expectations. Until he wasn't. Then after his death it didn't matter anymore, because it was too late; there were no more jobs to be had and no more money to be made from trading essentially worthless stocks.

I'd had the last laugh, albeit a bitter one, when, despite reading the _Journal_ everyday on his way to work, my old man lost all of his savings during the stock market crash and, subsequently, his job.

Now I worry about it. Maybe I should have taken his advice. Maybe I'd be able to earn a better living as an accountant, a broker or a banker. I highly doubt it though. Hardly anybody makes money in this economic climate. Going back to school was the right choice.

Strangely enough, I've discovered during our lunches on the lawn near the library that Bella doesn't seem to be entirely impressed or beholden to wealth either. At least that's the feeling I got from some snippets of our conversations this week.

On Monday, when I couldn't wait to see her to tell her that I love her, I decided to sit on the front steps of the library to wait for her. I'd figured, since there was no way I was getting any studying done that day, I might as well not bother or pretend. I searched the approaching people nervously for her, my knee bouncing up and down. When she arrived, right around her usual time, I almost didn't recognize her. She was wearing pants, flat tennis shoes, a loose fitting striped shirt and no jewelry.

"I'm so sorry about yesterday. Did Alec come to see you? Are you hungry? I brought food," she said with a smile on her face.

"I'm always hungry for your food. I missed you." I got up and kissed her chastely on the cheek, before we walked to our usual spot in the shade. I stared at her when she unceremoniously sat down across from me and started unpacking our lunch.

"Something wrong?" she asked, looking perturbed.

"Yeah, I'm confused . . ." I narrowed my eyes, inspecting her clothing and her lack of jewelry and makeup. "No pretty dress today."

"Jeez, Edward! Would I have known that you're so attached to my clothes, I would have made more of an effort instead of just presenting you with plain old me today. Since you said you may be in love with me, and I know that's not quite a full-fledged declaration of love … still … I thought this was enough …" She looked a little dejected and I had to stop her.

"I love you, since the moment I saw you, I am certain. Only you. And I like this." I tugged at her pants before reaching for her hand. I couldn't resist and stole a quick kiss from her mouth, feeling the familiar current of electricity running through me. "I'm surprised that's all. So the dresses … the perfume …" I didn't smell it. All I smelled was soap and the unique essence of the girl.

A wide smile reached her lips, spreading to the rest of her face and then her eyes.

"My mother buys that stuff and insists I wear it. I don't really care for it, but the dresses came in quite handy when I first tried to get your attention."

I laughed, remembering her changing dress routine and all the rest.

"Your aunt doesn't care that you are wearing pants?"

"No, she actually is just like my mother in that respect. My mother won't notice what season it is or my dad's absence for days in a row, but if I tried to sneak out of the house wearing pants, she'd wake up out of her lithium-induced coma and yell at me. So, no my aunt would never let me leave the house like this if she was around to see me. But it just so happened that dear Aunt Petunia got a letter from the bank this morning, which I assume wasn't too pleasant. Hence, she's locked herself in her bedroom, pretending to suffer from a severe migraine. Pathetic."

"Give the old lady a break. I'm sure it's hard to see your way of life slowly disappear."

"Oh, please. She just doesn't want to face the facts. She should just sell the old clunker of a house she lives in now and make do with less. I mean really, who needs ten bedrooms when the only people who ever come around these days are my mother and I? Instead, she's too scared to even check her bank account statements, sticking her head in the sand like an ostrich. Can you believe she still buys food for guests who long ago stopped coming? According to her 'you have to have enough supplies in the house, just in case' … please, give me a break!" she said with an exasperated sigh, while handing me a sandwich.

"Well, I'm certainly not complaining," I admitted, taking a bite.

"Another reason why I'm happy I found you. At least the food doesn't go to waste now."

I frowned at her and she laughed.

When I finished eating and she stopped picking at her food, I moved next to her, placed my arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled in response. "I love you," I whispered. She wrapped her arms around my chest and leaned her head against my shoulder.

"So who taught you to cook? Your mother?"

She laughed, but there was sarcasm and bitterness in her laughter.

"No. My mother doesn't cook. I don't think she knows how. I think she'd starve if she had to feed herself. Our cook raised me." Her voice sounded sad. I moved my head to look at her face.

"What's wrong with your mother?"

"Nothing really. She was never really a happy person as long as I can remember. Then they diagnosed her as depressed. I don't know. I was young. I didn't understand. She couldn't have any more children after I was born. They gave her laudanum first and then lithium. I think she takes both now. And drinks. I don't really know her all that well. Most days, she's like a ghost that lives in our house."

"Unless you wear pants," I joked and her smile reappeared.

"Yeah, that always wakes her up."

"What would your dad say if he caught you in this outfit with me?"

"I think that would mean dinner in the kitchen for the rest of my life, and not because I'm with you. He'd like you … he has more respect for doctors than I ever had."

"I'm not a doctor yet. I'm just a medical student. I'm sure he wouldn't be pleased."

"Stop being so pessimistic, please. I can't take it."

Reality is best taken in small doses, I discovered, and so I let it go.

~000~

Aunt Petunia recovered from her migraine episode after only two days; Bella is wearing dresses again. As much as I liked her in pants, I prefer the sight of her in a dress.

For the rest of the week, I carefully avoided any attempts by her to drag us back into the storage stacks of the library. Too much privacy. My resistance in that regard is wearing thin and if she tempts me again, I can't guarantee that I'll be able to push her away. I've resolved it's best to avoid the situation all together. The last thing I want to happen to her is an untimely pregnancy. She'd be stuck with me in a crummy apartment. I don't want that for her, even if she seems fine without the dresses and the perfume. I barely make enough money to feed myself, never mind a wife or child.

_Sunday, August 2, 1931_

We went to the movies tonight to see "City Lights." She was nervous, I could tell. She chewed on her bottom lip incessantly and barely paid attention to the screen in front though she'd seemed excited about seeing it at first. I was starting to wonder whether anybody she knew was in the theater with us, but she didn't let go of my hand and kissed me, so I assumed that wasn't it. I wanted to bring it up to figure out whether I could do anything to calm her down, but I didn't know how to approach her about it.

"So, did you enjoy the movie?" I asked casually, walking out of the theater hand in hand with her. It had been painfully obvious that she'd barely been present during the movie.

"Yes, I did."

"You did?"

"Yes, silly. Why?"

"Because you seemed preoccupied. Is something wrong, Bella?"

"No, everything is perfectly fine. I meant to ask you something though."

"Ask away."

"My parents are hosting a party of sorts very soon … Sunday, two weeks from now, to be exact. So …" She glanced at me from the side, not finishing her sentence.

"And?" I asked, wondering where she was going with this.

"I have to go, of course, and I'm leaving with Alec the Friday evening before. We're planning to go by railroad. I was wondering whether you would be able to take some time off from work to come along with us." She stared at me with big brown eyes and suddenly I was nervous.

"I can try," I said, calculating in my head how many paychecks I'd lose. She looked disappointed and I couldn't take it. I'd probably lose five days of pay to take the trip with her, but I couldn't deny her. "I will. I promise. Count me in."

Her smile returned and she grabbed my hand tighter. "You scared me for a second, Edward! I promise you'll like it."

I've saved up some money for next semester's books; I guess I'll have to dip into my savings.

_Tuesday, August 4, 1931_

Everything seems to be in order for my trip. My supervisor reluctantly granted me the days off, complaining incessantly for fifteen minutes that he didn't know how to run the place without my expert preparation of corpses anymore. Alec apparently had already purchased a train ticket for me last week; I'm yet to figure out how to repay him. He also arranged for my accommodation at his house during my stay.

I owe the man too much. I'd be lying if I'd say I was entirely comfortable with his generosity. When I stopped by his office today to thank him personally, he told me he was happy to help because he owed Bella a great a deal. He neglected to mention for what or why, and I didn't want to pry. He also mentioned that he owed me personally for Mr. Whitlock's employment with none other than Aro. I told him undoubtedly being in Aro's employ wasn't all good news, but he vehemently disagreed with me on that.

I'm concerned about meeting her parents, worried that they'll think me unworthy of dating their only daughter. I haven't discussed my concerns with Bella. She seems so happy about the trip and I don't want to worry her. I can no longer imagine my life without her, and I know I'll do whatever I have to to be with her, even if that means working night and day to repay Alec for the train ticket.

_Tuesday, August 11, 1931_

I'm blaming it on the dress. She waltzed into the library yesterday wearing a sheer, silken, white dress, temporarily distracting me and at the same time tearing down my wall of resistance. In the end it took all but a wink to lure me into the stacks behind the circulation desk.

Nothing about her kisses was innocent. Restraint flew out the window before the door shut behind us. I couldn't help it. I pushed her against the nearest shelf and pressed myself against her, while her hands touched me, teased me, until I was beside myself with physical want. For her. Only her.

"I want you," I managed to say between strangled breaths and wet kisses, grinding my hips into hers. "But please . . ."

"Edward, please . . ."

I didn't want her to feel rejected again; I didn't want to deny her. I struggled for a second with myself before deciding there was nothing wrong with at least bringing my girl some pleasure. So I found the seam of her dress with one hand and pushed it up.

Convinced that she'd won this battle, she started unbuttoning my shirt with her nimble little hands.

"Slow down, Bella," I pleaded calmly and she moved her hands away from my shirt into my hair. I felt the outside edge of her lacy underwear, and moved my hand back down to her knee. I let my fingers glide from her knee to the inside of her leg. My hand grazed her thigh, moist with sweat. Her breath hitched when I reached between her legs. Her panties were damp, yet I could feel her tense up and her lips stopped moving against mine.

"Relax, baby. I love you. This is only for your pleasure."

I kissed her gently, coaxing her with my tongue, and began caressing her slowly over her underwear. When she starting kissing me back, I pushed the fabric away and felt her slick, warm center. I drew circles around her clitoris with my thumb and slowly pushed a finger inside of her. I waited to see whether this caused her discomfort, but she seemed fine; in fact, her kisses became more urgent and her hips rocked naturally against my hand. I continued my movements with my forehead pressed against hers, until I felt her tense at once and then relax, a soft sigh escaping her mouth.

I held her until her breathing calmed down. I was convinced I'd dodged a bullet, and was rubbing deliberate circles on her back, when I felt her hand shifting to my pants. I couldn't move. Even over the fabric, the sensation of her touch was too good to oppose.

"Bella, not here and . . . please –" She held one finger up to my mouth to shush me.

"It's fine. I just want to return the favor," she whispered rubbing her hand over me.

The rational part of my brain told me to push her hand away and stop this, but my body felt powerless, too weak to withstand her tempting touch. So I let her unzip my pants and touch me with unsure fingers.

"Show me how to touch you," she requested as her fingers explored my heated skin.

I looked down at her fingers on me and swallowed hard. My hand moved down seemingly on its own volition and I stroked myself twice up and down, before she pulled my hand away and mimicked my movements with hers.

"Like this?"

"Yes." I squeezed my eyes shut, enjoying her touch.

I couldn't wrap my mind around the girl stroking me like this and much to my dismay Bella was a quick learner in all things sensual in nature.

"Bella." I gazed at her hand, her thumb swiping of my tip. A low hiss of pleasure escaped me.

"Yeah," she purred. I thrust my hips forward into her hands in response and she increased her tempo. Her hands felt magical, soft and so much better than my own . . . so good.

I groaned.

"Am I doing it wrong?" she whispered, placing a soft kiss on my neck and slowing her movements. Her fingers brushed lightly over the throbbing head of my cock again and I gasped.

"No, quite the opposite," I managed to mutter in a strained voice. She quickened her motions again with a firmer grip this time. I was teetering on the edge too soon.

"Sweetheart, you'll need to move soon . . . otherwise I'm afraid I'll leave a mess on your dress."

"I got it." She giggled and held up a handkerchief in her other hand. I chuckled. She tightened her grip, and I came a couple of seconds later.

We sank down on the floor together and rested there until I had to go to work.

"I won't be able to see you tomorrow," I told her before I left, tucking a lose curl behind her ear.

"Why?"

"I have to work a double shift. I'll be here on Wednesday to see you, if you have time to come."

"I have to go shopping with my aunt on Wednesday. Thursday?"

"Thursday," I confirmed. "I'll miss you."

We kissed good-bye too briefly at the gate.

I want to regret what happened between us yesterday, but I can't. I'm addicted to her touch. It's my new favorite drug. So much better than anything Aro could possibly serve, and more calming than anything Emmett and I used to smoke in jazz bars back in the day. All I can think about now is that I want more and when I will get my next fix.

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**Reviews are lovely.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I don't own Twilight. I seriously wish I did though. **

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**~ IX. ~**

_New Orleans, LA__  
__Sunday, August 16, 1931_

The heat in New Orleans is worse than anything I've ever experienced. The humidity permeates, makes you sweat, even if you're idly lounging, not moving a muscle. The sun singes your skin the minute you dare to step outside. The sluggish, brown Mississippi flowing along the riverbanks brings no refreshing breeze; the air is inert and stale.

The dirty, narrow streets are crowded at night and nobody is sober; the stench of the past nights' debauchery lingers the next morning. Despite the prohibition, people remained true to their vices. Yet, I like it here. There is a vibrant, electric current running through this city that makes you feel alive.

Music is in the air everywhere. I can hear someone playing a trumpet and the deep, melodic voice of a woman singing the blues carries into the room through the windows. My fingers are itching to touch the piano that's standing in Alec's library, but I don't want to leave this bed.

I barely slept last night, my eyelids feel heavy, and I might still be drunk. I don't want to sleep though. I'm waiting for Bella to return from her trip to a coffee shop that sells, according to her, the best beignets in the whole wide world.

I didn't want her to leave, but she insisted. "You cannot leave New Orleans without having tasted beignets," she told me. The loss of her skin next to me keeps me up. The sheets feel sticky and hot. I can only toss and turn while I wait for her. Sleep will not come until she crawls back into bed with me. _Will I ever be able to sleep again without her next to me?__  
_  
Alec still hasn't come home. I guess whomever he chose to go home with is prolonging his absence. I can't complain. I wish I could stay here with Bella forever, hidden and tucked away in this corner where nobody but us seems to matter. I don't want to think about having to return to Atlanta tomorrow. The train ride seemed to take forever, and I'm not looking forward to taking it again so soon.

When we arrived yesterday afternoon, every muscle in my body felt sore. I had worked several extra shifts before we departed from Atlanta Friday night, and fell asleep instantly when the train left the station, sitting upright in my seat with my head propped up against the window. I wished Bella had woken me up during the night. I'd wanted to spend time with her, but she insisted I looked so peaceful while sleeping that she didn't have the heart to wake me. Luckily, and to my surprise, Bella stayed with me at Alec's house in the French Quarter. They'd both told their families that they were arriving only today for the party, keeping their early arrival a secret.

Alec's house is opulent in comparison to most of the other buildings in this neighborhood. A high wall surrounds its perimeter so that onlookers cannot peer into the house or its gardens, giving it the appearance of a hiding spot. Shutters on all windows keep the inside of the house dark. In spite of the fact that the place feels and looks as luxurious as a mansion, Alec doesn't keep servants, not even a cook.

Spending time with him and Bella together turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. Watching their interactions yesterday, I'm no longer sure why I was ever jealous of him in the first place. Their relationship is more like that of two siblings; they belittle and tease each other relentlessly; their interactions are devoid of chemistry or romance.

After our arrival, we washed up and rested in the dark green, ivy covered gardens near the pool, before we went out for dinner last night.

Bella wore a long blue dress that left half her back exposed. The restaurant was barely lit. Glossy mahogany panels adorned the walls and heavy red velvet curtains covered the windows. The only light in the dining room came from candles flickering on tall brass candleholders, lending the room a golden glow. I stared at Bella's white skin against the deep blue dress for most of the dinner. In a dreamlike trance, my eyes passed over her chest, the peaks of her nipples straining hard against the fabric. I barely remember the food that was served; only that it was heavy and rich. Red wine was poured into weighty crystal glasses, bottle after bottle.

Alec had invited another guest to diner with us. His name was Riley. He seemed young, blithe, and after only a glass of wine, drunk. He had red hair and the bright, clear complexion of a small child. His attention was solely focused on Alec; he hung on every word that came out of Alec's mouth like it was the funniest, truest thing anybody had ever said. When Alec wasn't talking, Riley stared at him with shiny eyes full of admiration. I watched them with amusement and curiosity. The minute the waiters removed the desert plates, they excused themselves promptly and left.

"Let's get out of here," Bella suggested once we were alone at the table. We exited the restaurant and Bella insisted we walk home.

"Aren't you worried someone who knows you might see us?" I whispered in her ear, letting my hand rest on her hip as we walked. My inhibitions were low and her body, wrapped in tight fabric, was too enticing to resist touching.

"It's dark and none of my parents' social acquaintances would be caught dead walking here at this hour."

When we turned the corner, she pulled me by my jacket with her against the wall and kissed me.

"I missed you," I murmured, planting hot kisses down her neck.

"The house is only two blocks away," she said between sweet, low moans.

"What about Alec?"

"I don't think he'll be coming home tonight. Judging from the looks exchanged between Riley and him, they'll probably spend the night at Riley's place near Tulane."

I laughed out loud at my slow perception. I didn't know how I'd failed to recognize the obvious. The interactions I'd witnessed at the restaurant were that of two lovers: salacious glances and words of affection flowing freely between them. How could I have been so blind?

"Why are you laughing?"

I shook my head.

"I just can't believe … that I didn't see it! I always noticed there was something different about Alec, but I couldn't put my finger on it."

"Nobody knows and nobody _can know_. Do you hear me, Edward?" she said with a suddenly serious tone to her voice, as if she needed to protect him.

"Bella, I don't know anybody that would care about it," I scoffed. "Besides, I owe the man. My lips are sealed. Happy?"

"I know you wouldn't." She kissed my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "I thought you'd be more excited to spend the night me," she teased me with a wink.

"Who says I'm not excited?"

We'd reached the gate to the house and Bella pushed it open with one hand, bending forward to lift her dress with her other to take the next step over the threshold. Her dress shifted, exposing her strapless, naked shoulder. She'd been setting a seductive trap and I'd fallen right into it, all evening long.

"Do you want to go for a swim?" she asked in a husky voice, throwing me a quick glance over her shoulder as she entered the house. Her eyes, her smell, and her skin – everything drew me in. Resistance would be futile, I knew; so I surrendered and gave into temptation.

I silently watched and followed her as she walked through the house to the courtyard. The moonlight shone across the yard and made the ripples of water in the pool glow in a delicate grey light. She slipped out of her shoes and stumbled. I took a quick step to hold her steady. The proximity of her naked skin displayed so generously by the slipping dress was too alluring. So I let my fingers glide over her shoulder and down her back. I stared at her silver comb and placed a soft kiss on her neck, before bringing my arms around her waist and holding her against me, feeling her body mold against mine. She leaned her head backward against my chest and arched her back, pushing her butt flush against me.

"I want you," she whispered.

I felt my jaw tense in anticipation. There was no turning back. I didn't hesitate. I loosened my hold on her waist to look at the back of the dress and slowly pulled the fabric down, revealing only pale, flawless skin unobstructed by lingerie. She shrugged her dress off in one fluid motion, leaving the garment in a pool at her feet. I let go of her waist, and with steady, confident steps, she walked into the water.

I took my clothes and shoes off slowly to follow her, savoring the moment of watching her naked, retreating form in front of me. When I stepped into the water, warmed by the day's sunlight, she turned around slowly to face me. The water reached up to her waist and my eyes landed on her breasts. My fantasies had never done her beauty justice. Rosy peaks and creamy skin so mesmerizing. Her wet skin shimmering before me, I reached for her hand resting on the surface of the water. She stepped forward, her eyes locked with mine, closing the remaining gap between us. I was aching to feel her body pressed against mine unobstructed by clothes. I cupped her face, searching her eyes for doubt and kissed her slowly when I found none. I let my fingers trail along her neck and down over the side of breasts.

"So beautiful…" I whispered against her mouth. "Prettier than I could have imagined." I sucked in the skin behind her ear, palming her breasts, grazing over her hard nipples with my thumb. I felt her hands exploring my back, grabbing, pulling, and holding me closer to her as we stepped deeper into the water.

"So good, so soft ..."

I moved my hand to her butt and she boldly hitched her leg up to my hip. I felt her hot sex gliding against me and her hips rocking against mine, searching for friction.

I moved with her, her moans and soft whimpers encouraging me. I held her close so I wouldn't lose contact where I knew she wanted me and kissed her. Bella's body became frantic with need, slithering against mine until my cock rammed against her entrance. She stilled for a second, before reaching down for me with determination in her eyes. I held my breath as she touched me, trying to position me. I stopped her.

"Baby, wait, please. Like this," I whispered against her temple, taking her hand and placing it on my shoulder. I pulled her hips closer and reached my hand under her butt until my fingers found my erection. I pressed myself against her and started gliding along her slit in a slow, steady tempo, careful not to enter her.

"Edward," she panted shortly after.

"Does it feel good?"

I felt her nod and moan against my shoulder. "So good."

I groaned when I felt the muscles of her body tighten around me, her arms squeezing me, her legs clenched around my hips with force. After the tremors of pleasure had ceased, she hung limply in my arms. I willed myself to stay still until she'd calmed down, my cock aching and ready between her legs. She recovered quickly and her hands started reaching for my hair, pulling my mouth to hers. We kissed, tongues lazily exploring.

"I love you, Edward Cullen. You are so good to me," she said between wet kisses. I held her firmly and started carrying her out of the pool toward her bedroom. When we reached her room, she clung to me, refusing to part from my arms, forcing me not to let go and pulling me onto the bed with her.

"Are you sure?" I said, rolling to the side to lie next to her. She was touching me, teasing me and I barely managed to bring out the words, but I wanted to give her a choice, a way out.

Bella nodded and sat up on her knees beside me, smiling down at me. "Yes, I'm sure." Her hand reached up behind her head and long shiny waves of hair tumbled down her back, spilling over her shoulders and over her breasts. I pushed myself up to sit, mesmerized by the magic girl with her dark hair. She dropped the comb on the nightstand and reached for the nape of her neck to unhinge the tiny gold chain with the cross.

My fingers played with her soft curls, and I felt a smile spread across my face. "Toss my drawing, will you?" I requested quietly.

"No! Never!" she exclaimed with a frown on her face.

"I'll make you another one. You – the woman in flesh and blood sitting across from me – are so much more beautiful than I anything my imagination could conjure up."

A blush crept up to her cheeks. "You can draw me as many times as you want, but I will always keep the first one." She kissed me before I could argue. We lay down next to each other to kiss and touch. Her hands started to stroke me expertly and I felt myself tense. If I wanted to be inside of her before I came, I knew I needed to stop her. I pulled her hand away and moved her leg up my thigh before reaching my own hand down to feel her. I rubbed over her nub slowly, before sinking one finger deep between her slick folds inside of her.

I searched her face for signs of displeasure, before pushing a second finger into her. Her hips flexed against my hand in want.

"Please, Edward. I'm not going to break."

Every fiber in my body was aching to feel her, to move inside of her and when she pulled me on top of her, I had no strength to fight her with. I was naked and bare, hovering over her.

"I love you. I want to be with you, only you, for the rest of my life," I said, lost in her eyes with nothing left to hide. "Promise me you'll never leave me, please?"

"I promise."

With shivering hands, I reached between us to position myself and pushed. She was wet and slick, but too tight. Her eyes widened for a second when the tip of my cock pushed inside of her. She tensed. My body was shaking with want; I pulled back and pushed harder forward, until I felt the barrier break and I slid inside of her. I held still for a second, cherishing the feeling of completeness and bliss pulsing through me, while my cock twitched impatiently. When I could no longer resist the urge to thrust, I set a slow, steady pace with short strokes, barely pulling my hips away from hers. I kept my eyes focused on her face for signs of pain, but her eyes were closed and I could only hear soft moans.

"Open your eyes, Bella," I pleaded gently. I needed to see her eyes to ground me, tell me that this was good.

She glanced at me before lifting her head up to kiss me, her tongue darting out between swollen red lips and her eyes not leaving mine. Her hands moved over my back slowly and came to rest on my hips. I felt her lithe body starting to move with mine, spurring me on and matching my rhythm. Covered in sweat, we slithered and pressed against each other until we fell in sync. We were one.

Soft whimpers and whispered words of love brought me closer and closer to the edge, until I couldn't hold on anymore. Dazed and delirious, my orgasm hit me with force; I didn't pull out and spilled inside of her.

I want to say that I regret my actions, but I can't.

With great effort, I managed to be more careful for the rest of the night. The girl was insatiable and impatient, as if time was running out on her and she needed to experience it all in one night. Her body willingly took me in again and again – luscious, slick, and open for me. The sight of Bella, full breasts, slender hips and flawless skin made me rise to fulfill her every need. The feel of her skin, soft and hot, pressed against mine, made me beg for her touch; a touch that ignited a fire I'd never felt before. I couldn't stop myself even if I tried. The flush on her face when she came for me, because of me, told me that she couldn't either. I relished the taste of her, salty and sweet at the same time.

I will never get enough of her.

Dawn was near, I could tell by the sounds of the birds, when I thought she'd finally fallen asleep, sore and exhausted, lying next to me with her back pressed against my chest. Her breathing had calmed down to a slow tempo. I was tempted to drift off, but then she started swiveling her hips against my crotch in the most delicious way, letting me know she was awake, wanting more. I got hard in no time, itching to be inside of her, to posses her one more time before the night was finally over. I moved my hands over the soft flesh of her breasts to her flat stomach, moist with drops of perspiration, until I reached her sweet spot. I rubbed my fingers over her in light circles.

"Harder, please," she begged and I increased the pressure.

"Better?"

"I want to feel you."

I reached for myself with my other hand and pushed my cock against her swollen, tender folds. She rocked her hips against me, and I slipped inside of her with ease; her heated, wet center welcoming me, taking me in.

"You feel so good, Bella." I sucked and licked her neck, pushing into her in unhurried, erratic thrusts, until she turned her head and found my mouth to capture it with hers. "I need you so much."

"Please . . . " she moaned, writhing against me, alive and on fire. "More."

I gently lifted her top leg at her knee, bending it and placing her foot in front of her other leg on the bed, giving me more space to move. She held on to me, her fingers digging into my flesh, nails scraping against my skin and rocking her butt against me with fervor. I pulled my hips away to push back into her in one long, forceful stroke.

Something primal in me took over, as I pounded into her over and over again. The way she tightened around me, squeezed me and moaned, sent me into frenzy. I wrapped her long hair around my hand to suck and lick the revealed skin.

"Mine," I heard myself growl. "Only for me, Bella."

"Yours, always yours," she panted and I felt her release.

My thrusts became faster and more forceful until I knew my own release was close. I wanted to come inside of her badly to claim her completely, but I forced myself to pull out. The second I did, my girl turned around to face me, staring at me with wide, loving eyes. I grabbed my throbbing cock quickly and after three quick strokes, my orgasm took over and I spurted my fluids against her stomach.

I hope we can stay a couple of days longer. I don't want to return to my life back in Atlanta. I'm not ready for it. The pillow next to me smells like her hair. I wish she'd hurry up. The bed feels so empty without her.

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**Reviews would be nice. **


	11. Chapter 11

**I don't own Twilight.  
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**~ X. ~**

_Atlanta, GA_

_Monday, August 17, 1931_

I should've known it couldn't end well. I wasn't meant to lead this happy life that, for a short period, had seemed within reach. I desperately chased the simple story where two people fall in love, get married, and have kids. Of course with my luck the only girl I wanted it with, I couldn't really have. Not completely anyway.

I'm an all or nothing kind of guy, and I knew that about myself going in, which is why I should have avoided her. But Bella was too enticing to resist, and soon I was too entranced by the girl to see what was happening right before my eyes. The slight hints whenever she talked about money ... I should've predicted it.

Yet even if I'd remained entirely unaffected by her charms, even if I hadn't fallen for her, I wouldn't have been able to predict the twisted events that occurred at her parents' house, or Bella's response. No, not in my wildest imagination could I have conjured this up.

Upon Alec's return around lunch on Sunday, I left Bella's room and took a shower. I knew something was amiss when I walked out into the garden a bit later on to find Alec and Bella were sitting together quietly sipping drinks. The silence wasn't odd in itself, but something about their behavior seemed strange and amiss. Bella's mind seemed like it was somewhere else when I greeted her; she barely acknowledged me. Alec seemed anxious. He kept on wringing his hands while throwing nervous, quick glances in Bella's direction. She didn't react. In fact, she ignored him, opting to stare off farther into the distance. I didn't have time to worry or question their conduct, since we all got up shortly after and went back to our respective rooms to get ready for the soiree Bella's parents were hosting.

While Alec and I were waiting in the entryway ready to leave, I wondered whether they'd gotten into some kind of fight when I was showering earlier.

Alec had lent me a tuxedo that miraculously fit perfectly. I didn't recognize myself as I stared into the large mirror leaning against the wall. So much about my appearance had changed since the last time I'd taken a look. The man reflected in the mirror looked not only nicely dressed and properly nourished, he also appeared more alive.

A car arrived minutes later to take us to the party and Alec called for Bella to come downstairs.

"I'm not ready. Go by yourself, Alec. I don't care," she yelled back, an edge to her voice. Bella's reaction was uncharacteristically brash.

Alec didn't react; just sighed in resignation and nervously straightened his cufflinks. We waited for her, I smoking cigarettes and Alec reading a trade paper. Neither of us exchanged a word.

After a half hour wait, Bella appeared at the top of the steps, her face transformed with makeup into a stoic mask. She looked beautiful, too beautiful for a human being made out of flesh and blood, as she glided down the stairs in a pale pink satin gown. Cool and statuesque, she moved emotionlessly like a china doll across the marble stairs. She passed us and slid into the backseat of the car without acknowledging either of us.

I was starting to worry then. The girl I'd spent the night with was gone, and all that was in front of me was a porcelain shell, empty and devoid of emotion. I was tempted to pull her to the side to ask her what was wrong, but there seemed no time for it and every time I made an attempt, she slipped away.

Bella remained perched her seat perfectly still behind me, staring out the window. Alec, sitting next to her, looked like he was strongly affected by her distant behavior. I watched him in the rearview mirror looking sullen and sad, chancing glances at her every so often. He opened his mouth several times, as if he was about to say something, but then, dismissing the thought, closed it again.

We'd left the French Quarter and ended up on a main avenue with larger than life mansions on either side, when the car came to a halt in front of one particularly large, pompous one. I wanted to lean over to Bella and ask her what was going on, but before I had a chance, the car door was opened and she moved to exit the car.

Once we were outside, a butler dressed in a stiff white shirt, bow, and a black tailcoat greeted us. He whisked us through the double doors into the palatial front hall. Bella walked ahead of me with Alec, the crowds of people gathered there swallowing them quickly. The house was stuffed with people dressed to the nines in evening gowns and tuxedos. Some of the older women were decked out with jewelry like Christmas trees, their hands so heavily decorated that it seemed to take an effort to lift them.

I stalked through the masses of people who were chatting loudly into the next room to search for Bella and in the process entered a large room lined on one side by a buffet serving food and on the other side by a bar. The buffet had five different carving stations with glazed hams, roasted turkeys and beef. I didn't think I'd ever seen so much food piled up in my life. The bar on the other side was stocked with every imaginable kind of foreign liquor and decorated with ice figurines. I stared at the unfolding spectacle with a mixture of amusement and distaste.

Once I'd surveyed the scene, my eyes started searching in earnest again for Bella. When I didn't see her anywhere inside, I walked outside. The vast, lush garden extending behind the mansion was lit by a thousand little lights that were shining in chains from trees. A band, complete with a mini-orchestra, was playing dance music. Some guests were moving around the dance floor constructed on the lawn below the terrace, while others were lounging in groups on garden chaise longues. Waiters scurried around everywhere, picking up empty plates and holding up trays of champagne. I must have wandered around for an hour in search of her, but never caught a glimpse, before I decided to get a drink. The waste of food and rapid consumption of extravagant, and still illegal, booze in front of me was appalling, yet I couldn't resist a drink that wouldn't taste like swill.

I was ordering a scotch when I finally noticed Bella standing at the door, glancing around; the mask on her face had temporarily slipped away. She didn't see me. As she passed through the sea of people on her way through the room, her face quickly turned into the same mask she'd worn coming down the stairs at Alec's house. She looked perfect, no hair out of place and her lipstick still vibrantly red on her lips. A portly looking man in a suit, adorned on his arm by a dainty woman was walking head of Bella, seemingly leading the way. The woman clinging onto the hefty man appeared even smaller and fragile next to him. The double-stranded diamond chokers around her delicate throat seemed to be suffocating her, depriving her of life. Her physical form bore no resemblance to Bella, yet I knew it was her mother by the glassy, far-away look in her eyes. I assumed the man whose arm she was holding on to was Bella's father. Alec appeared out of thin air, rushing after them hastily as they exited the French doors leading out into the yard.

Instinctively, I knew I would be intruding if I followed them and introduced myself. The girl walking behind her parents seemed aloof and foreign, as if she wasn't the same girl I'd just spent the night with. Still, I couldn't resist, pursuing them in hasty steps without bothering to wait for the drink. Outside, I saw them nearing the podium where the band was set up. Bella and her family walked up onto the stage, followed closely by Alec. Another couple stepped up behind him. The man looked like a thirty-year-older version of Alec, almost an exact replica aside from some graying hair around his temples. The woman accompanying him had bright red hair, obviously dyed, which framed a small delicate face with a pointy nose and thinly arched eyebrows.

I didn't know for certain what exactly would happen next, but I suddenly had the ominous feeling in my gut that this was not just _any _party. Without further ado, the man I assumed to be Bella's father started speaking about the close ties between Alec's family and their own, and how what brought them here tonight would only serve to strengthen those very same ties. I knew then what was about to follow, but yet his announcement hit me like a strong punch in the stomach, leaving me gasping for air. When I finally inhaled, a sharp stab of pain sliced through my heart, my esophagus burned and bile rose, his words ringing in my ears "… and so it is with great pleasure that I announce the engagement of my only daughter to Mr. Alec …"

A forced smile appeared on Bella's face as her father requested the guests to raise their glasses in honor of the beautiful, young couple and then disappeared as her eyes came to rest on me. I held her gaze for a second, before I blinked and escaped as fast as I could through the clapping and cheering company toward the front door.

The butler gave me a puzzled look as I ran past him onto the street. I heard him calling after me, asking whether he could call me cab, but I didn't stop. I was almost at the next street corner, when I heard her voice.

"Edward. Wait!"

I wanted to keep running, but my feet wouldn't carry me. I came to an abrupt halt, breathing heavily. I let her catch up with me, though I couldn't get myself to turn around to face her. I clenched my fists and remained motionless. She gave in and walked around me. Standing in from of me I tried to ignore her unsuccessfully. Tears were streaming down her face, leaving grayish trails on her cheeks. The carefully put on mask was gone. As mad and hurt as I felt, I couldn't help but feel empathy for the girl in front of me; the girl I was in love with.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know until this afternoon. I love you. Nothing is going to change that. You have to know that." Her voice sounded exhausted and tired as she pleaded for me to acknowledge her, not daring to touch me.

I pulled my hair in frustration, looking up at the starless, black sky. I was torn. Part of me wanted to console her, tell her that everything would be alright, even though I knew nothing would ever be the same again. The other part wanted to run and not look back. I didn't want to be part of this world. My resolve to walk away was slowly waning; I couldn't find the strength.

"Nothing has to change, Edward. Alec won't care. But my family needs the money. My father's business is on the verge of bankruptcy, and Alec's is incredibly wealthy."

Something in me snapped as my brain made the logical conclusion to her suggestion and I unleashed my anger at her.

"Are you out of your mind? Are you even listening to yourself? Nothing has to change?" I shouted, barely recognizing my own voice in rage. My eyes found hers and I blazingly glared, scorching her. Anger had won out, compassion was swept away; she could only attempt to avoid my burning stare by looking at the ground. More tears came rolling down her cheeks.

"There is no other way. They will be left with nothing if I don't marry Alec, don't you see? I cannot let that happen." She fell down on her knees in front of me, her dress settling around her on the stones like a cloud against darkening skies. I couldn't take it any longer. I knelt down and pulled her up into my arms. I wanted to hold her one last time for my own selfish reasons.

"I'll move to Atlanta, Edward. Alec won't care what I do. He has promised me that."

I wouldn't be able to agree to what she was asking of me – all or nothing; carrying on an affair with her, while she was married to someone else wasn't something I could live with.

"How long will the engagement last? When will you get married?" I asked, an idea forming in my head.

"Probably a year," she murmured against my chest.

I understood her motives better than she could imagine. I don't know if I ever would have sacrificed my own future to save my family. The way I feel about her though leads me to the conclusion that I probably would have chosen her over my family. Yet I couldn't fault her for the decision she made. Instead, I unleashed my animosity and disappointment at the people who put her in the position – her parents, wasting money and living the life of luxury at the cost of their daughter's happiness.

"A year." I contemplated what I could do in a year. I couldn't go back to school. Only one person, one solution, came to my mind. It will have to work, I told myself. Determined, I cupped her face with my hands and turned her head so that she had to look at me. "Wait for me; give me a year. I will come for you before you get married. I promise."

"But how, Edward? Please don't leave me. In a year, nothing will have changed," she answered, shaking her head.

"Please, Bella. Wait for me. I'll make enough money somehow. I'll have to leave Atlanta, but I promise you, I'll be back. Don't ask me how. But please don't get married until next August," I begged.

She nodded silently in agreement. Too brief a kiss, a hushed _"I love you"_ and she was gone. Thunder erupted as her silhouette disappeared in the darkness, and rain started pouring from the sky. I walked back to Alec's house, drenched to the bone by the time I arrived. I used the key he had given me, and once inside packed my bag in a hurry to leave town immediately. I jumped on the night train back to Atlanta before midnight.

The train ride felt like it was never ending. While I drifted in and out of a hazy, restless sleep, with Bella's tear stained face appearing every time I closed my eyes completely.

I need to leave soon to see Aro. Hopefully he will be open to my proposal and maybe it will be enough. My plan sounds crazy even to me, but I have to give it a try. If I fail, there'll be nothing left for me.

_Wednesday, August 19, 1931_

It's all set and I'm ready to leave this town behind.

I entered the grimy speakeasy on a Monday night and walked straight to the door leading to Aro's office. I knocked once and was let in without questioning. It almost looked like Aro was expecting me. He greeted me with no hint of surprise in his voice, as if I was an old acquaintance who'd visited him on a regular basis. In fact, I had only seen him a half a dozen of times before.

I presented him with my business proposal and he agreed. I will smuggle imported liquor on the black market for him. Not the cheap shit he gets from the local distiller, but the expensive, imported stuff. The prohibition couldn't last for much longer, I warned. In this depressing era, people need something to drown their worries in, I told him. I could provide him with decent stuff at bargain prices, and we can turn it into something legit the minute the draught is over.

I'm leaving for New York City tomorrow morning. I hope the longshoremen back home remember me. They used to be my friends when I worked the docks during college. I helped to unionize them; I'm not sure it came as a blessing to all of them, but most of the workers did get better wages in return. Hopefully my efforts weren't for nothing. With some luck, I know they'll help me. I'll need the help of the union bosses as well if I want my plan to work. That might take some convincing, but I think I can handle them. Cold hard cash will do most of the work for me.

If you told me two months ago about what I set out to do now, I would have declared you insane. Now all bets are off. Anything goes. I've packed up my room and sold my books. No use for them where I'm going.

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	12. Chapter 12

**I don't own Twilight. **

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**~ XI. ~**

_New Orleans, 1950_

While the beginning chapters of the diary explain a lot of things I've always secretly wondered about, the entries that followed Edward's departure from Atlanta were fascinating, full of adventure and suspense. After a brief dinner with my grandfather, I eagerly run back to my room, lock the door securely and lie on my bed, ready to devour Edward A. Cullen's life story.

The start of his ventures in New York didn't come without hardships and costs, but he prevailed. The longshoremen, the union, and the mob didn't always cooperate. I'm captivated by his descriptions of the world he lived in and the expansion of his business. In the beginning, most of the characters in his story are dirty, grimy criminals and corrupt, lower government officials. His life was in serious danger more than once. He suffered several setbacks, both in his business and in his personal life. His mother died shortly after his return to New York, and he was grief stricken for weeks, barely able to get out of bed. But the most devastating blow he suffered came at the hand of his beloved Bella. After she married Alec in October of 1931, he stopped writing for some time.

He seemingly was able to carry on by clinging tenaciously to the small sliver of hope that he might be able to win her back one day, if only he was rich enough. So he kept on going, assuming and amassing wealth.

In the process, the characters of his story gradually change from the dark figures of organized crime to successful businessmen and high-ranking politicians. Mr. Cullen's business diversified, expanded and flourished. When Aro died in 1936, he dropped the Atlanta connection, but hired Mr. Whitlock as his personal accountant. Over the years, the relationship between the two men evolved, and Mr. Whitlock advised him on many of his investments. As best as I can guess, he also became his confidant, his guide in turning his enterprise legitimate.

The beginning of the World War II happened to be particularly lucrative for Mr. Cullen, and by the end of 1941, when the US entered the war, he was a wealthy man, with money invested in so many gainful ventures that he no longer had to work or deal with petty criminals. Yet for a man who had accumulated so much in such a short period of time, he had no taste for luxury, and the money at his disposal didn't bring him pleasure. He took careful measures to avoid social functions at any cost and only dined out to talk about work. Aside from his apartment on Fifth Avenue and a weekend house on Long Island, he never spent his money on much.

I can't help but envy him. He was completely self-made, with no handouts, no family connections to help him. The last entries I find, written in the same cheap notebooks that he'd used when he was a student, are from August 1942. He stopped writing completely after that, it appears.

~000~

_Atlanta, Georgia_

_Wednesday, August 12, 1942_

Atlanta has changed a lot since I last set foot on its streets. It's busier now. Aro has been dead for some time, and I don't know many people in this town anymore. Even Mrs. Cope has passed away. I am not sure why I bothered to find out about her whereabouts. I don't think I would have visited her. I'm only here to see one person.

I checked into a hotel this morning. Locating Alec turned out to be easy. The family is still wealthy, but they've taken some losses during the past years. According to my sources, Bella and Alec settled in Atlanta shortly after they got married. When I'd first heard about their nuptials, I couldn't bear to hear anything, not even small tidbits, about their lives. It was too painful for a long time.

I'm not sure I made the right decision now to find her, but the emptiness I've felt ever since I found out about her wedding has become unbearable lately. I'm also possibly rich enough these days to buy out both Alec's and her father's businesses without putting a dent into my accounts. In short, I have no more excuses left that would prevent me from searching her out.

With some digging, I was able to find information about her aunt, Petunia Higgenbotham. As Bella had suspected, the bank foreclosed on her house in 1933. Thankfully she didn't live through the humiliation of having her belongings sold to the highest bidder. She died shortly before the auction with her possessions in tact.

I've been planning this trip for three weeks, yet, as I'm sitting in my hotel room overlooking downtown Atlanta, I'm reluctant to face her. I've imagined this meeting for ten years, dreamed about it all the time. I've calculated all possible scenarios on how our encounter will end. Still, I feel unprepared.

_Thursday, August 13, 1942_

I'm ready to leave Atlanta. There is nothing for me to discover here. After some delay yesterday, I decided that my best chance to meet her alone would probably be on a business day when Alec would most likely be at work. The concierge found me a car and a driver. With their home address in hand, I had the driver take me there before lunchtime.

According to their address, they lived in a wealthy neighborhood. The house itself was situated on a large parcel of land, surrounded by a high white wall. I could tell Alec had a hand in picking this property. The place was secluded, almost invisible to the casual by-passer. The driver nearly missed the entry gate, and no house number could be found near it to confirm the address. Yet, there was no doubt in my mind that we'd reached the right place.

We were granted entrance and a large white house loomed in the distance at the end of a long narrow driveway. It was plain, yet imposing. Marble steps led to the front door and dark window shutters closed off any view of the inside. As the car pulled up in front of the main door, an older looking maid dressed in all black with her hair pulled back into a severe bun opened the door. I walked up the three steps to greet her. She looked at me with a confused expression on her face, her brows furrowed and eyes inspecting my appearance carefully.

"I apologize, but I don't recognize your face or your name, Sir. I hope you are not another reporter," she said curtly.

"I can assure you, I'm not a reporter," I said, but before I could introduce myself, she spoke again.

"Are you a business acquaintance of Mr. Dubois? If you are here to express you condolences to his family about his passing, I will have to disappoint you. His family is in New Orleans and the funeral will be held there this Friday," she said, impatiently stepping from foot to foot, half ready to close the door in front of my face.

"Alec Dubois has passed away?" I clarified, stretching my hand against the door.

"Yes, isn't that why you are here? It was all over the newspapers last weekend. He was shot dead five days ago at his place of business."

"No, I hadn't heard. I came here to see Mrs. Dubois actually."

"Mrs. Dubois? His mother passed away last year."

"His wife?" I tried.

"I don't know anything about a wife." She looked at me then with suspicion. Obviously I wasn't familiar with any of the Dubois' recent affairs and I knew she wouldn't be willing to divulge further information to a complete stranger.

"I see. Well, it looks like I made this trip for nothing then. Excuse me," I said quickly. I turned around without hesitation and drove back to the hotel.

If she isn't in this town, there is no purpose of prolonging my stay. Too many memories haunt me here. Looking at old buildings that have changed and new buildings that have risen, I'm reminded constantly about how much time has passed … how much time I've lost and will never recapture.

I can't believe Alec is dead. I called an acquaintance of mine I sometimes use to dig up dirt on people. He had no problem finding the scoop behind Alec's murder. One thing is for certain, Alec's tastes never changed.

The official story is that Alec was killed by a man named Sam Uley. The unofficial story is that Mr. Uley is taking the blame for someone else's deed. According to one of the clerks in Alec's office, Mrs. Uley was the person who actually pulled the trigger. The whispers around the store were that she accused Alec of stealing her husband from her before she shot him once. She must have had good aim. He died instantly.

Normally, I'd dismiss the story as fabricated gossip, but knowing Alec, I believe the gossip in this case comes closer to the truth than the official story. I booked a ticket for the next flight to New Orleans the minute I returned to my hotel room. I'm certain that she will attend his funeral, even if they are no longer married.

_New Orleans_

_Friday, August 14, 1942_

I made it to the cathedral in time for Alec's service, but for anything else I am too late. I've wasted too much time accumulating something I don't want and have no use for after today.

I was so busy wallowing in my own misery after Jasper Whitlock gave me the news about Alec and Bella's impending wedding date that I never bothered to contact her. I drowned myself in liquor first, and when that proved to be an unsuccessful means to forget her, in work. Drinking, I discovered fairly fast, brought on even stronger visions and dreams of her, and work only occupied my mind for so long. So I gave up on forgetting her, and instead picked up the pieces I had left. I didn't bother to search for explanations of why she hadn't waited for me. I guess I had little faith in her in the end.

Bella remained on my mind every single hour of the every day. Her existence and the mere possibility that I might win her back gave me reason to work, a purpose to continue slaving my days away despite the fact that I cared little for the spoils of my labor. I had this impossible dream that once all my business transactions were legit, I would go find her and try to win her back. Like any dream, you have wake up eventually and today I did.

I stood in the back of the cathedral searching for her, but couldn't see her. The building quickly filled up with mourners, all lamenting the tragic death of someone I couldn't care less about. When the cathedral was almost filled, nearly every last seat taken and she was still nowhere to be seen, I was starting to wonder whether Bella and Alec had parted on bad terms. I couldn't find any records of a divorce though, but maybe the investigator I'd hired overlooked it.

I was ready to storm out of the service to take a cab to her parents' house, when I saw a portly old man, whose face seemed vaguely familiar, walking down the nave and sliding into one of the front pews. I slowly stalked down the side aisle, until I reached the row where he'd sat down. Standing behind a column, I took a closer look. I couldn't place him at first. Only when I saw the waif thin woman with parched skin next to him did I recognize them as Bella's parents. The years had not been kind to them. Mr. Swan's face was swollen and red like that of someone who habitually drank too much. Mrs. Swan looked frailer and her hair had gone completely grey.

I gazed at them for a minute before stepping to the side. The service would start soon and there still was no sign of Bella. I was about to make my way back to the entrance to leave, when the sight of a boy, about nine or ten years old, caught my attention.

He was standing near the stoup on his toes, searching the rows of the seated guests. The first thing that drew me in was his mop of unruly bronze hair. It was the same color mine must have been when I was about his age. Something about his physique and his gait when he finally ran along the nave to the person he'd been searching for also reminded me of myself. Skinny and agile. He came to an abrupt halt at the row Bella's parents were sitting in. The boy scuttled in and settled next to them. I couldn't take my eyes off of him from then on. I moved back to my spot behind the column, but my view of the boy was partially blocked by Mr. Swan's protruding belly and large head.

Uncertainty remained after I caught another sight of him as the family exited the cathedral. I didn't dare to go into the small cemetery where only the closest family members appeared to be in attendance. Instead, I took a cab down to the Swan residence in the Garden District. I needed to take one proper look at the boy to confirm my suspicion, and I had yet to see her. If my gut feeling was right, then I knew why she'd married Alec early. It would explain everything.

I waited for an hour inside the car parked in front of their home. Their mansion was well maintained and hadn't lost any of its grandeur. Flowers were blooming and the lawns were groomed to perfection. I was tempted a couple of times during my wait to walk to the front door and knock, half expecting her to open the door, but something kept me in the seat of the car. I needed to know for certain before I saw her.

When the Swan's car pulled up, I got out and walked down the sidewalk toward them. I halted a distance away. The boy stepped out first, skipping in a carefree way up the stairs to the front door, before turning around.

"Grandpa, hurry up. I wanna go fishing," he whined. I looked at his face, catching a brief glimpse of his eyes, shining brightly green. Even the face was remarkably similar to my own. At first glance, I couldn't detect even a hint of Bella in him. I stepped back casually, but stopped dead in my tracks when I heard the old man's voice.

"Damn, boy! Edward, you won't be goin' fishin' today. Get it out of your head!"

In shock and strangely emboldened by the information, I waited until they closed the front door behind them, before stepping up the stairs to their front door. I knocked only once before a young woman in a maid's uniform opened the door.

"Good afternoon. My name is Edward Cullen. I was wondering if I may please speak to Ms. Isabella Swan."

"I'm sorry . . . she's not here …" the girl stammered with wide eyes as if she was seeing a ghost.

"Would Mr. Swan be able to spare five minutes of his time?" I asked in a rush to find out more.

"Let me see for you whether he's available, Mr. Cullen." She bowed briefly and closed the door. I half expected her to deny my request, but she returned a minute later to let me into the house, leading me to a well-stocked library.

Bella's father hoisted himself up from a leather chair upon my entry, inspecting my appearance carefully. I smiled at him, even though I hated his guts more than anybody's.

"Good afternoon, Mr. – what was your name again? I don't think we've met before?" he said with a strong southern drawl, extending his chubby hand toward me.

"Mr. Cullen. I think we were never officially introduced. I was friends with your daughter a long time ago," I answered, shaking his hand firmly. At the mention of his daughter, his expression darkened.

"I see." He narrowed his eyes wearily. "Please sit," he said, falling back into his chair. "What did you want to speak to me about, Mr. Cullen?" He pulled out a pipe from his waistcoat pocket, stuffed it with tobacco and lit it.

I sat down in the chair across from him, leaning back to take a closer look at the man in front of me. I could see some only faint similarities between Bella and her father. The eye color was the same, but not much else. "This should only take a minute. I actually came to Atlanta to visit Mr. Dubois, unaware of his passing. I attended his funeral service and was hoping to express my condolences to your daughter. Unfortunately, I didn't see her at the service."

His expression shifted from one of distrust to one of anger.

"A friend of my daughter's, heh?" He exhaled smoke sharply.

I nodded. "Yes."

"Listen, I've no idea why or how you knew my daughter, but you obviously didn't bother to keep in touch, which makes me wonder why you are here today. You see, my only daughter passed away seven years ago. Alec's will is about to be opened and administered tomorrow and my grandson, who you incidentally bear a striking resemblance to, is expected to be the only heir to his estate." His voice had gradually risen in volume and by the end of his last sentence, he was yelling at me, breathing heavily. His face was bright red, as he got out of his chair and was about to stagger over to me. I should have moved, attempted to leave; yet all I could do was stare in shock at the grotesque figure in front of me. "I think you should go now, Mr. Cullen. Rest assured, as long as I live I will not let you near my grandson or his money. You can bet on that."

I wanted to protest, but words failed to come out. He hovered near me for a second, before walking to the window.

"I wasn't completely blind. That boy looked nothin' like her or Alec. I always had my doubts, but I kept quiet. For her sake and the boy's. I suggest you do the same," he said, not looking at me, staring out into the garden.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Swan," I finally hurriedly replied, walking out of the room. My mouth felt dry and sweat started dripping from my forehead as I rushed out the front door without uttering another word. The cab driver, still parked at the curb in front of the house, yelled at me, demanding his pay. I tossed some bills into the window of the car, to shut him up and continued walking.

"Mr. Cullen? Edward Cullen?" I heard a deep, melodic voice behind me. "I've somethin' for ya. Sir?"

I turned around cautiously and saw an elderly black woman approaching me slowly. She came to stop a couple of feet away, eying me with deep brown eyes full of sorrow and pity.

"My name is Bernie. I've worked for the family for a long time. I watched Miss Bella grow-up. She was such a purty child. Before she passed, she gave me this for you, sayin' that you might come back one day." She held a yellowing envelope out to me.

"Thank you," I said in a voice I barely recognized as my own, reaching for the envelope.

"Your boy's a good boy." A broad smile spread across her face. "She named 'em Edward after his father. He looks just like ya."

"Thank you. I didn't know … " I choked on my own pathetic excuse.

"I know." She patted my arm gingerly. "After the child was born, it was all down hill. She never recovered. Nothin' much I s'pose anybody could've done."

I don't remember how I returned to the hotel. My memory is hazy after that conversation. I've wasted the last ten years of my life dreaming, instead of coming back for her and living them. I've lost the time I could have spent with her. My dreams are dead. The only thing I've left is regret. Regret that I didn't stay, that I failed her. I loved her more than life itself and yet I destroyed her. There is nothing left to live for now. The boy, our son, doesn't need me.

~000~

_New Orleans, 1950_

There are no more entries after this one. Nothing. Not a single word. Tucked behind the last page of the notebook, I find her letter.

~000~

_June 3, 1935_

_Dear Edward,_

_I guess if you are reading this letter, you came back for me. I always knew you would. When I first told Bernie that I wanted to write you a letter and I needed her to hand it to you in case I wasn't around anymore, she protested, telling me it wouldn't work because she didn't know what you looked like. I didn't have a photograph of you, so I started describing your face, the color of your eyes, your physique and even your smile to her, but then I stopped. I said to her, "Bernie, you know what? You'll know it's him when you see him." She didn't want to believe me until I told her, "You'll know because my son looks exactly like him."_

_Bernie quit fighting me after that. To be honest, I was surprised she gave me an argument. It's quite plain when you look at my son that he's not Alec's and he looks nothing like me either. Sometimes I hear them whispering behind my back, claiming that my son must be the milkman's child, but I ignore them. He's all you, Edward. So much so that when his eyes first turned from dark blue into their true color, I spent hours staring into them, because they reminded me so much of yours. I swear they are the exact same color as yours, even down to the little dark specks around the iris. _

_I named him after you – Edward Anthony. Alec didn't care. In fact, he doesn't seem too fond of children really. He told me he might have felt differently, if I'd had a girl. He said he would have enjoyed having a smaller version of little old me around. I told him that I was happy I didn't have a girl. Girls are powerless and weak in this world. Our boy is strong and good._

_Old Maurice though, Alec's dad, is absolutely and perfectly mad about little Edward. He takes him with him wherever he goes and spoils him rotten._

_No matter what anybody tells you when I'm no longer here, having your child was the best thing I ever did in my life, do you hear me? That boy is my pride and joy. He turned three just two weeks ago. He's so smart, just like his father. He talks a lot and has so much energy. I'm sure every mother says that about her child, but I'm dead certain that in the case of our son, it is the complete truth and not an exaggeration. I'm trying to teach him how to read before he goes off to school, but he barely sits still long enough for me to go over the alphabet, and sometimes I'm so tired that I give up trying._

_I know I sound like a horrible mother. You have to forgive me. Some days it's hard for me to get out of bed. It feels like this heavy blanket is covering me, weighing me down and it's so hard to fight it – this feeling of being dragged down. I think I'll have to stop fighting soon. You'll have to forgive me for that too when it happens. _

_Don't be concerned about the boy. Bernie has promised me she'd take care of him, just like she took care of me when I was a little girl. She is so good with children, much better than I am. Plus, Edward will have his grandparents. He'll be fine. So when you do come back, think about leaving him here?_

_I miss you every day. I know you were trying to do what you thought was best, but I still love you and I feel so desperately alone without you. I wish that we'd had more time. I tried getting in touch with you after you left, but nobody knew where you were. It's too late for regrets now, and mostly I am hopeful these days._

_I hope you are living, and not just existing, Edward. Make the most of it everyday, will you? In fact, pour yourself a glass of decent brandy while you're reading this. I can't tell you how happy I was when the prohibition finally ended. Alec sent me two boxes of the finest French champagne that day. Generally, I think things are moving in the right direction. I know I sound like a silly, little schoolgirl with a crush, but I must say I adore FDR and everything he's doing. Things will get better, I'm certain. Our son will have a bright future ahead of him._

_I know I told you back when we first met that I didn't believe in God, and I'm still not certain I do, but as I can see my end in this world, I do wish for a place where I could see you again one day. I doubt it exists, but I would love to be in your arms one time, even for just a minute or two. _

_I have so much more I want to tell you, but I think this will have to do for now. Maybe I get to see you and we'll talk while you hold me in your arms. If we miss each other and don't get to say goodbye properly, please don't plague yourself with guilt or regrets when there are so many things we need to be grateful for. I am so happy that I did get a chance to know you, even though the time we spent together was brief. It is those memories of our days in Atlanta that sustain me, make me smile like a mad woman. I experienced a love most people only dare to dream or write about. What we had was so special and rare, and maybe that's why we weren't meant to have all the time in the world together. We have a child, a child that will outlive us both. So what more can I ask for? Take care, Edward._

_Love,_

_Bella_

_

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_**One more chapter to go**** – an epilogue of sorts that will explain (hopefully) any remaining mysteries****. Thank you very much for reading. **


	13. Chapter 13

**This is the final chapter of this story. Thanks to all my readers & particularly those who've left me some reviews. I truly appreciate it.**

**I don't own Twilight.**

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**~ XII. ~**

_New Orleans, 1950_

My mother's words taunt me more than Edward A. Cullen's story. I tuck the letter between the pages of the notebook and store the diaries together with the rest of the memorabilia in the box underneath my bed. Staring at the ceiling, I try to recall things about her. I remember so little about the woman who gave birth to me. After reading so much about her, I suddenly feel like I not only lost my mother all those years ago, but also a woman who could have been my friend and confidant.

When she first died, I hated her for leaving me behind. She used to read to me, hold me and spoil me with sweets. One of the last memories I have of her before she died was her taking me to the stream behind Grandpa Maurice's house to show me how to fish. I still go there sometimes. After her death, the house felt empty, devoid of life. My grandmother was a ghost who never spoke to me, and my grandfather's temper was hardly conducive to dealing with a three year old child. Bernie did her best to soothe me, hug me, and keep me occupied, but she wasn't my mother.

My grandfather, Charles Swan, or Charlie as I usually call him, rarely talked about her. I always thought he held her in contempt because of who she'd become in the end – a sick addict. Maurice, Alec, and Bernie only had kind words to say about my mother, but I never fully gleaned who she was from their stories. Alec probably knew her the best, but he never spent much time with me. He'd stayed behind in Atlanta after my mother gave birth to me and returned to her parents' house, and then he died when I was still young. Seeing my mother through the eyes of an outsider who genuinely and completely loved her, I can see now for the first time who she was as a person. I've come to the conclusion that more than anything else that was the reason Charlie disliked her.

My mother was smart, educated, and had dreams about a future that did not include being caged into a mansion with pretty dresses and jewelry. She wanted more from life than what she had. Her opinions, her choices in life, in a sense her very essence, went against everything Charlie believed in and still does. In his opinion, which he values above all others and preaches to anyone who is willing to listen, women are men's property; their sole purpose is to get married and bear children. She defied him by going to college, and then again when she married Alec, even though the marriage saved his business.

Whenever I got into trouble as a child, Bernie used to tell me stories about how my mom and Charlie used to fight like cats and dogs. She said the part of me that contradicted and argued with him came straight from my mom. Almost since the day she could talk, she fought with her father. Not even the occasional slap with his leather belt would shut her up.

By the time my mother met Edward Cullen, she had defied her father several times already. Alec once told me when I was about six years old after old Caius Volturi had walked past us, that right before my mother was supposed to go to college at the age of seventeen, Charlie had almost forced her to marry Caius. I wrinkled my nose in disgust and Alec laughed. Apparently Mr. Volturi had agreed to pay some of Charlie's substantial gambling debts back in the day, in exchange for his daughter's hand in marriage.

Caius Volturi is still alive today, and by all estimates he is the most powerful and richest man in this state. Financially he would have been a good match for most eligible bachelorettes, but his considerable age and his appearance left him single despite his riches. Overall, his looks resemble that of an ancient, decaying mummy; his skin is paper thin, sagging eyelids obscure his eyes, and he can only walk with the aid of two canes. By my estimate, he must have had at least thirty years on my mother.

Bella refused the proposed marriage the minute she got wind of it, but her refusal in all likeliness meant very little to my grandfather. Feisty, her will to defy Charlie not yet broken, Bernie told me that my mother took it upon herself to examine the books of her father's business. With help from Alec, who was in his first year at Harvard at that point and only home for the summer, she managed to find enough funds to cover Charlie's debts. She also managed to cut some wasteful spending in his business, making it profitable for a while. Confronted with this new reality and additional money, Charlie relented under the condition that Bella would agree to marry a man of his choosing immediately upon her graduation from college.

Once she graduated, she didn't bother at first to return home and instead worked for a year as an assistant to a curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. I have no idea what her experience was in New York. From what Bernie told me, she was disappointed and depressed when she finally did return home in defeat, so I assumed it couldn't have been a positive one. Once my mother confessed to her over glass of sherry sitting at the kitchen table that she found it immeasurably hard to deal with the fact that she had little chance of succeeding in a career all because none of her colleagues would consider taking her seriously as long as she had breasts.

By the time she returned, Charlie's finances were again in dire straights due at least partially to the economic downturn that wreaked havoc on so many businesses during that period, though surely his inability to cut his spending habits and to devote more time to work rather than leisurely indulged debauchery didn't help his business either. So he wasted no time looking for a suitor for my mother.

While the Dubois were most certainly wealthy enough to make Alec Dubois a suitable match for her, my grandfather did not consider him to be a good choice for his daughter. In contrast to Charlie, Maurice Dubois was a hardworking business man who insisted on a strict accounting of all expenditures. Borrowing money from Maurice would have bought Charlie's business under the eagle eyes of Maurice, and that thought alone gave Charlie nightmares.

In the midst of the depression Charlie's choices were limited and so he expanded his search.

When Aunt Petunia fell ill due to a particular heinous and persistent case of migraines, my grandparents agreed to send Bella to Atlanta to care for her, in the hopes of possibly finding a husband there. And I guess in rather typical fashion of my mother, she did meet a potential husband in Edward A. Cullen, a choice that would have sent dear Charlie into a fit of rage. Reading the rather explicit entries in his diaries about the time he spent with my mother, I gather it is safe to assume that he is my father. I guess if I had known either of them growing up, the diary would have been quite shocking and uncomfortable to read, but other than the stories Bernie, Alec, and Maurice shared with me about my mother, I know very little about my her and next to nothing about my father. They are to me like characters in a book; people I've grown quite fond off and sympathize with, because their story has moved me, but at the end of the day they are strangers.

Like Charlie, I knew from an early age that I was not Alec's son. It wasn't that he'd ever treated me unkindly, but our relationship always felt strained. I know Alec must have loved my mother in some way, but I always doubted they were romantically involved. I noticed his preference for the same sex when I was about ten years old, shortly before his death. I was sent to visit him for two weeks in the summer that year and accidently wandered into his bedroom one morning, where I found a naked man sprawled out on his bed. I didn't think anything of it. I was still too young to figure it out completely. Reading Edward's diaries simply confirmed something I already knew.

Maurice more than adequately made up for Alec's lack of attention. He treated me like I was his own son until his passing. I had a room in his house where I could stay as long as I wanted and often did so for extended periods when Bernie left to visit her daughter in Georgia. For my sixteenth birthday, Maurice threw a party for me. I remember it well. He spared no expense, making my birthday bash the biggest social event of the late spring season. I hated the party, but I amused myself with the girls who were easily charmed by my smile. In fact, I lost my virginity in the large walk-in-closet next to the library during said party. Her name was Jessica Stanley, and I still thank my lucky stars today that I didn't get her pregnant. What I remember most about that night though is the conversation I had after all the guests had left. I hadn't seen Maurice all night, but when I loosened my tie in the empty entryway and was about to head to my room, he was leaning in the doorway to the living room. He watched me intently, his hands folded around a glass of scotch.

"Happy Birthday, son," he said with a big smile playing across his lips.

"Thanks," I muttered, rolling my eyes, feeling suddenly dead tired.

"Have a drink with me, son, will ya?" He motioned for me to follow him.

He handed me glass of scotch, which I barely touched during our conversation, and a cigar, as we settled across from each other in front of the burning fireplace. We chatted for a while casually about which bay provided good fishing this season and other nonsense, until the conversation turned serious.

"Edward, since my son and wife have passed away and I'm not getting any younger, I think it's time to discuss some family matters with you," he started, swirling the scotch in his heavy crystal glass. "As you know, my son left you his entire estate when he passed away, and I have maintained his investments well during the last years, so that you are entitled to a decent size inheritance when you turn eighteen. Jane is well taken care of and since she has no children, I'm not planning to set aside anything for her in my will. My wife left plenty for her already. I will maintain this house for as long as I live, and upon my death you will inherit the title to it along with the rest of my estate."

"Thanks, but it's not necessary –" I started objecting, feeling uncomfortable. Part of my discomfort possibly originated from an underlying sense that I was linked to his family only by name, not by blood; though no one ever mentioned any suspicions they might have had in my presence.

"I know it's not necessary, but there is nobody else who is as near and dear to me as you are. You are in a certain sense the son I always wished I'd had. You can sell the house once I'm gone, but maybe you will think about keeping it. Bella always loved this house, because the garden is much bigger than the one behind the Swan residence. Alec and her used to play together down by the little stream that runs across this property. They were like two peas in a pod, glued together since they were toddlers. Do you remember her, Edward? I know Charlie never talks about her, but your mother was a heck of a girl."

"I do a little," I answered, remembering pictures I'd seen of Alec and my mother when they were children. In nearly every single one of them they held hands. I always used to envy the connection they seemingly shared.

He nodded, a sad smile playing around his lips. "So, back to business." He sighed heavily and crossed his legs. "In addition, as has always been the tradition in the Dubois family, you will be entitled to a trust fund. In the past, the requirement was that you be married before gaining access to the fund, but I think it's time to get rid of such an antiquated rule. I made Alec adhere to it and no good came of it, so you will have full access to the fund upon your twenty-first birthday, irrespective of whether you chose to settle down. Don't worry about Charlie or Renee either. I've taken care of that. It is the way Bella would have wanted it."

I wasn't sure how to respond to his generosity. "Thank you," I finally managed to say. "I really don't know what to say, Grandpa."

"Nothing is fine. No need to thank me. I owe your mother, I suppose, for bringing you into this world. You've grown up to be such decent young man. She would be so proud of you," he said, his face crinkled by a genuine smile. "Life wasn't the same for Alec, after your mother passed. He loved her. Maybe not the way he needed to, but I can't fault him for that. You probably don't remember her well enough to know this about her, since you were so young when she died, but she was the most vibrant woman that ever walked the face of the earth. So much passion, so much energy. She would have been destined to greatness, if she were born a man. The person you met still had that spark, but it was slowly extinguishing. It was a shame really. My son is partially to blame for that. He failed her, and for that I must apologize to you."

"Bernie said there is nothing that anybody could have done. She was sick."

He smirked at me. "Ah, wise, old Bernie! Well, she is right in some way. Nobody could have cured the underlying physical illness that she suffered from after your birth, and no matter what anybody tells you, she only took to smoking tar because it killed the pain and made her forget. Don't judge her for the way she left."

"I don't," I answered truthfully. I still have memories from my early childhood and her crying in agony in the middle of the night. Bernie would get up and run to her room to try to sooth the pain with potions and tea, but they would never help. My mother refused to take the morphine the doctors prescribed, because the brown glass bottles the liquids came in reminded her too much of the laudanum bottles her own mother fell victim to. In the end, she found the illicit version of the painkiller more appealing. Her physical discomfort became more bearable after she discovered an opium den one night. She started smoking opium habitually for the last year of her life.

"But Bernie is also wrong. We all share some blame for killing the flame that sustained her; I am, because I insisted that Alec be married before allowing him access to his trust fund, thereby forcing my son to follow a path he wasn't designed for; my son, because he persuaded her to marry him even though he knew he'd make a lousy husband and she was in love with someone else, and your grandfather surely shares some blame too. After all, if he hadn't perpetually gambled money away back in the day, she wouldn't have been forced to marry for money."

I was perturbed by the acknowledgment of collective guilt, but didn't know what to make of it. Only now do Maurice's words make sense to me. I excused myself shortly after his confession and fell into a deep sleep, slightly drunk from the sips of champagne I'd stolen during the party and the scotch.

Charlie never acknowledged any lingering feelings of guilt or regret over my mother's passing. Yet, after reading my father's diaries, I blame him the most for her death. He is technically the only family I have left, but I have little desire to return to this house once I leave for college in the fall. Maurice died last winter, and Renee's heart stopped beating two months ago. I didn't grieve her. She was dead long before the doctor signed her death certificate. The only person I will return to this house for is Bernie. She's the only person left I care about.

Jasper Whitlock has gracefully spared me any attempts to search for Mr. Cullen by including his death certificate in a separate envelope together with another note from him explaining the circumstances of my father's death. After he found out about my mom's passing, he assigned all his worldly possession to a trust fund I am now the beneficiary of and volunteered for the army. Since he'd completed his first year of medical school, they assigned him to the medical corps. He was stationed mostly in the South Pacific region, where he succumbed to malaria and died in 1945.

Along with the enormous wealth he left me, as detailed in the letter I first received from Mr. Jenks, I have all his personal possessions as well. Aside from the diaries and my mother's two letters, the packet included a pocket watch with the initials E.A.C. engraved and several pictures of my father when he was younger. I marvel at the outward resemblance between us, and I wonder whether I inherited any other traits from him. I shall never find out.

I won't mourn the fact that I never knew my father or my mother. Or fault Edward A. Cullen for never seeking me out, but instead volunteering to be slaughtered in a war. It's pointless. Instead, I will focus on living and not wasting time.

The one thing I learned from their story is that sacrificing some part of yourself for social standing or wealth never really pays off. In the grand scheme of things, it won't make you happy. My mother may have saved her family's business and wealth, but she killed herself doing it. Edward, for all his distaste of wealth, felt constrained by norms he should have defied and let them propel him into gaining something he had ultimately no use for. Neither of them chose to live, to seek out what made them whole. I will not repeat their mistakes.

THE END

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**Thank you for reading.**


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